


...And Always Shall Be

by orphan_account



Series: T'hy'La [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Established Friendship, Eventual relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Jim/Carol, Past Spock/Pike, Pon Farr, Slow Burn, T'hy'la bond, TOS episodic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-20 20:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Spock hesitates only a second longer, then presses his palm to the door and it slides open.  He anticipates and receives Jim into his embrace, allowing his t’hy’la to bury his face in Spock’s neck.“Sorry.  I didn’t…I wasn’t sure where to go.  I needed you,” Jim says, gasping through his emotions.After 11 years apart, Jim and Spock finally find their way to each other.





	1. Prologue Part 1- 2261,  The Farragut Incident

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic wil be laid out as a part 1 and 2 prologue which are shorter than the rest of the fic, then 18 episodes of TOS--the chapter names will be a play on the episodes I've chosen--and the fic will end with Amok Time, followed by a short post-series epilogue. So 21 chapters. I'm not sure about posting schedule, but I'll try to get them all typed up as fast as I can.
> 
> The M rating is for later chapters, and yes, this fic will include both the Leila and Carol Marcus arc, but nothing in detail--more like a passing mention.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me in this series this far!

Spock is in his office when the notification on his PADD pings through. He anticipates a message from Jim, but instead sees a simple alert: Farragut docking for overhaul.

Spock has been waiting for this for some time now, ever since the news spread through the United Federation regarding the attack, and the death of so many on the ship. Spock had been beside himself until it was confirmed that Lieutenant Jim Kirk had survived in spite of the massacre. Captain Garrovick had not been so fortunate, as had so many aboard been unlucky.

Spock supposed a better man would not have been so grateful, but the only thing he could think of was that their fragile bond still existed, and when the ship docked, he would be able to hold Jim in his arms again.

It had been four years now—four years with Jim on his first official Deep Space mission, and Spock awaiting his return to the Enterprise. The repairs had been delayed an extra year, and Pike had only just messaged that the ship would be ready in two months. Two months, and Spock would be in space and Jim…well. Perhaps Jim would still be here.

It seemed a cruel twist of fate that they were afforded only moments with each other since reuniting. The week after Jim’s graduation, and the occasional shore leave when the Farragut was close enough to earth for a few days of relief. 

It offered no real, tangible moments to see if the relationship would ever progress past lingering touches and the inability for Spock to look away any time he and Jim shared a room together. There were long nights of comfortable beds, without sleeping ,talking until their voices became hoarse.

And then Jim would be gone again, and Spock would be teaching, and at night indulging in illogical fantasies of Jim in his arms, Jim on missions with him, Jim seeing him through his Time.

In spite of these intrusive thoughts, Spock manages to get through the rest of his day. He does not expect an invite to see Jim, nor does he receive one. So it’s with great surprise that he hears the soft, _pweeooo_ of his door alert as he’s sitting down to his evening meal. 

A jolt of anticipation—unexpected and quite illogical—hits him and causes a two point six second delay in his response as he stands and approaches the door. The screen shows only the arm of a person, but Spock does not need visual confirmation to know who is standing just outside. He feels it like a long, slow tug on an immature bond which has sat deep in the recesses of his mind since he was but for terran years of age.

Spock hesitates only a second longer, then presses his palm to the door and it slides open. He anticipates and receives Jim into his embrace, allowing his t’hy’la to bury his face in Spock’s neck.

“Sorry. I didn’t…I wasn’t sure where to go. I needed you,” Jim says, gasping through his emotions.

Spock feels wholly unprepared and unpracticed to offer the physical comfort Jim—as a human—requires in such an occasion of emotional compromise. He remembers with a hint of embarrassment, using his sehlat to demonstrate the human affection of embraces, of soft kisses to the temple. Jim seems to require much more than that now, though he seems contented that Spock does not remove his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Your apology is neither necessary nor is it logical, Jim,” Spock says. He holds him firm but guides him to the sitting room where there is the appropriate amount of space on his sofa for the two of them. Jim goes easily, seems to prefer being handled in such a manner, and it makes some visceral, base part of Spock preen at his success in providing. “I hope you will never feel regret in seeking me out.”

Jim pulls away, and his hazel eyes are bright. His face looks older—as it has been years and Spock is aware of the effects of deep space travel on humans. It is not as detrimental to the body as it once was, but they still bear the weight of it over many species. There are fine wrinkles near Jim’s eyes now, and little commas in the corners of his mouth.

“You heard, right? I’m sure you have. It was blasted all over the networks.” Jim pulls back from Spock, and Spock fights the irrational urge to reach out and pull him close again. He clasps his hands on his lap instead as Jim drags a hand down his face and sighs out a noise of frustration. “It was my fault. I…” He leans back and curses, “Shit. I could have…I could have done something. Acted faster. I don’t know. But they all died, and they’re trying to give me a commendation for it.” He spits the word like it’s an insult.

Spock does not entirely understand—at least in the way of empathy. He has never experienced such an emotion, but with logic he can surmise why Jim is displeased by this promotion. Spock has grown to know this man, from childhood to the Lieutenant he is now. Spock can see the hunger in him, the drive, and the very nature of what it takes to be a Starship Captain. But he also understand that the man Jim is, he does not want it like this.

“Are they offering you the Farragut?” Spock asks.

Jim shakes his head. “No.” He gives a laugh, which sounds the furthest thing from amused. “No, but I think they’re going to offer me the position of First Officer.”

“And you do not wish to take it?” Spock inquires.

“I don’t want something I haven’t earned,” Jim stresses.

Spock bows his head, and he wishes to argue because in spite of what Jim feels he’s done wrong, Spock has already gone over the fine details. Had Jim chosen to fight the beast, there was a seventy-six point three percent change he, too, would have perished. Spock is a Vulcan, and there is no logic in lying—to himself or anyone—so he will freely admit to preferring Jim’s life over the others.

However, he also understands that Jim would not appreciate hearing such a thing.

“If I might make a suggestion?” Spock asks. He cocks his head to the side when Jim’s eyes fix onto his face, and he curls the corners of his lips up. “I have been told my several of my peers that a way to soothe emotional distress is through what humans call, take out and a night in. If I am to remember correctly, you have a fondness for Chinese, and I believe there is a place which can provide swift service directly to my door. Allow me to give this to you, Jim. There is no escaping what you must endure tomorrow, but for now, I can do this.”

Jim’s entire face softens, and where so many humans do hesitate, there is none when Jim reaches for his hand and takes it. “That sounds perfect, Spock. I knew I came here for a reason.”

“I do hope it was more than my ability to feed you,” Spock quips.

And unlike so many humans who cannot hear the subtle nuances of Spock’s humor, Jim does. He lets his head fall back against the cushions of the sofa and laughs. “Food and your charming company, of course.”

Though the statement is meant to be a quip, Spock hears no lie in it, and sees only affection in Jim’s eyes, feels only contentment in their bond. He allows Jim another moment of hand-holding before he finally rises to place the order. Perhaps it is not ideal—there is still the short time now hovering over them like a clock ticking down, sending Spock to deep space and Jim to…wherever the Federation sees fit.

It is not their time yet, to travel together amongst the stars. But it will be.

He can sense it.


	2. Prologue Part Two- 2261-Carol, Leila, The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst, but also more hopefulness? 
> 
> I've always wanted to write the scene between Leila and Spock since I keep thinking about his words about loyalty to that man on the bridge, and self-made purgatories. And it never sounded like he was denying feelings for her, but that he was allowing himself to live with not having exactly what he wanted from Jim. Mayne not, but in my opinion it was a case of Spock allowing himself to be friendly, and someone else taking that to mean something far more.
> 
> As for the Carol arc, I debated a while with whether or not Jim was going to tell Spock, and I'm pretty happy with my decision. 
> 
> Thank you for the comments so far! They are everything <3

Normally Jim is not one to answer summons or be distracted by comm messages during his time with Spock. As sparse and sporadic as it is, with Spock’s schedule and the demands for Jim’s time after The Incident—as Jim has taken to calling it—Jim and Spock both seem to treasure their moments together with equal measure. Spock will often find Jim lurking outside of his office long after the office hour time has passed, waiting as Spock finishes up all the messages and notes on his PADD.

More than not, they simply find food and take it back to Spock’s little apartment—which is far homier and more comfortable than the temporary quarters Jim has been given. Spock wants more—craves more—but does not cross the line. Not yet. Jim has still been engaging in romantic liaisons with others, and it is not in Spock’s nature to share.

It is, however, in his nature to be patient. He rather enjoys watching Jim blossom into the strong, capable man he will be when he takes a Command Chair for himself—earned on his own merits. For now, he is but a young man trying desperately to discover what it is he wants—what he needs.

Spock, though it causes an ache and an irrational fear that perhaps Jim will find contentment with a human and eventually settle down, is content to wait it all out. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his consciousness, he’s aware that Jim feels the bond between them, and treasures it. He feels Jim pull on it occasionally, like picking a scab, like scratching an itch. Jim does not understand it now, and Spock will not burden him with the knowledge until they are both ready to choose forever or nothing at all.

For that reason he maintains his bond with T’Pring. She has initiated no communications with him, though Spock expected no such thing. However she has not indicated she wishes to sever it and seek her time with another. Spock will admit to feeling some measure of guilt at that—for if he chooses to sever it and choose Jim, he will perhaps be leaving her bereft and in danger should she not find a mate before her time comes upon her.

However, Spock has found his t’hy’la, and cannot help his selfish desires.

“Is there a problem, Jim?” Spock asks, looking at Jim carefully as he’s abandoned his meal and is now staring at his comm screen.

Jim swallows, then sighs. “It’s Carol.”

Spock, against his own will, stiffens. Jim has had sexual congress with—as Spock estimates—twenty-nine individuals over the years—most human, on earth, but not always. However Carol Marcus has captured Jim’s romantic attention exactly seventy-six point four percent more than any other repeat ‘date’.

For that alone, Spock is uneasy.

“I will take no offense if you choose to meet with her and end our evening meal early,” Spock says. His hands are on his thighs, and he grips them into fists for only a moment.

Jim’s face flickers, and Spock wonders momentarily if Jim can feel it. “I’m sorry,” he says, and puts his napkin on the table. “You know I wouldn’t leave you if it wasn’t important.”

“I am aware,” Spock says. He watches silently as Jim gathers his things and heads for the door.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? I want to keep talking tonight. I can sleep here, right?”

“Your presence is always welcome, Jim,” Spock says softly, and takes pleasure in knowing very few can make Jim Kirk’s face soften in the way Spock can.

Once, many years ago, Jim and Spock would not have parted each other’s company without a hug—without a brush of hands, or a kiss pressed to a temple. Since that first night, when Jim allowed his emotions to lose control in Spock’s arms, they have avoided such thing. Spock thinks perhaps Jim is having those human needs fulfilled by others, and he only hopes one day he will be the sole provider of that necessity.

Again, for now, he is patient.

Though perhaps he is not content, nor is he pleased after Jim leaves and the door slides shut.

The apartment feel too quiet after that, an illogical thought as the apartment contains neither more nor less noise on any other occasion when Spock occupies the space alone. He does not like it.

All the same, he is a Vulcan, and therefore he will not let such emotions control him. He finishes his meal, clears up the mess, sets up a chessboard for Jim’s return, and he waits.

~*~ 

Jim does not return. Spock eventually retires for meditation and the minimum sleep required to function at optimum levels. He does not have lectures the following day, but is meeting a botanist at one of the labs to assist with some cross-breeding from Vulcan species to aid in sustaining colonies. He checks his comm more frequently than is logical, but knows that should something have occurred that put Jim’s life in danger, he would have been alerted well before waking hours.

He’s in his office when the call beeps through, and Spock’s fingers tremble as he hurries to answer and hear Jim’s voice. “Spock here.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jim says, breathy and his tone a little weak. “I’m so…last night got completely out of hand and by the time Carol and I were finished it was way too late for me to come back.”

Spock wants to tell him that there is no hour too late for him to return to Spock’s apartment—that he thinks of anywhere he resides as Jim’s home as well as his own, but he knows he cannot. So he simply asks, “Is all well, Jim?”

“I…” There’s hesitation in a way Jim is rarely hesitant with him. “Yes. It’s fine.”

“And Dr. Marcus…”

“She’s fine. She’s leaving,” Jim says. There’s something pulsing in the bond, something Jim is keeping back, but Spock does not seek it out, allows Jim this privacy. Spock feels it’s logical to assume that it was sexual congress motivated by their impending time apart, and he understand that it would be emotional for both parties—their human need for companionship feeling the strain of separation, and their human lack of ability to control it would make the moment intense.

“I am sorry for the loss of her, though when you two should meet again…”

“No,” Jim says sharply, and it startles Spock. He takes a breath. “No that’s not…we won’t be. Not again.”

Heartbreak, Spock thinks. In spite of experiencing emotional turmoil in being cut off from his family bond, and losing the acknowledgement from his father, Spock does not fully understand the emotion. But he has seen it play out enough times during his stay on earth that he is relatively certain that is what Jim is feeling. Heartbreak.

“I grieve with thee,” he says, as it is an apt saying for any loss. “Perhaps we can resume our chess match tonight and…”

“I can’t,” Jim says, interrupting Spock’s flow of words. “I’m sorry. I’m…I’m actually at the transport station right now, and heading to Iowa. To uh. To see my mom. My dad’s sick again and I just kind of need to get away from everything right now, you know?”

“Of course. Upon your return…”

“Two months,” Jim says, and there’s definite regret in his tone. “Spock, I’m sorry. I know the Enterprise is leaving in a couple of weeks, but I just…I have to get some space right now. Okay? I wish I could explain, but…”

“Apologies are neither logical nor necessary,” Spock says, ignoring the stabbing hurt. Should he be in such pain, he would seek out his t’hy’la for comfort, and yet Jim chooses to isolate himself. It is yet another way Spock does not understand human emotion, and human need. That was not something his mother ever explained to him. Isolation was expected on Vulcan—but when his father was in need of her, she never shied away from him, and only chose to be apart when she was bringing Spock to visit Jim.

He wishes desperately to understand, but still will not put that on Jim. Not while he is suffering.

“I hope our communications will continue during our missions, Jim.”

Spock can nearly hear Jim’s smile as he says, “Nothing could stop me, Spock. Not even death itself.”

“Fascinating,” Spock says, only because he _knows_ it will make his smile grow bigger, and he wishes only that he could see it. “Should that be the case, I will look forward to experiencing such a thing. Be well, ashaya,” he chances, because in the years he’s been using those terms, Jim has never asked, and Spock can only assume Jim now knows that he is precious.

“Live long and prosper, Spock,” Jim says.

Spock closes his eyes and it takes more strength than he has to say, “Spock out,” and close the comm.

He pushes down the pain, and composes himself as he goes to the lab.

~*~ 

“Miss Kalomi,” Spock says, offering her a nod in greeting.

Leila Kalomi, heading up the botany experiment on earth, has been working with Spock for months now on her project. She has been unsuccessful as of yet, but he appreciates her determination to find at least one species that can be cross-bred, in spite of statistics telling her she should cancel the experiment.

He is also aware that although she is a friendly scientist with all of the other technicians, she affords Spock thirty two point seven percent more attention. He has come to the conclusion that she holds affection for him, though she has made no advances, so he feels safe in categorizing her as friend.

They have shared midday and evening meals together, and even have sat together for coffee on the occasion. He has seen her less since Jim’s return to earth, but it is soothing in a way that Spock never felt on Vulcan with his peers, to see his friend’s face.

She smiles at him as he walks in. “You’re late.” He is aware her tone is in jest, but all the same, he bows his head.

“I apologize. I was detained at my office for a communication. I should have sent a message…”

She laughs, putting her hand on his arm briefly. “It’s fine, Spock. Let me guess…Jim?”

Spock nods. “He is leaving for Iowa today and will not return before the Enterprise departs.”

Her eyes go a little soft, and she brushes her hands down her front and says, “The plants can wait. Come with me.”

Spock frowns, but has no reason not to follow as she leads the way out of the lab, down a small maze of hallways, and to a small cart selling coffee and pastry. She selects chocolate for herself, and a honey for him, and two sweet blended coffees which he only occasionally indulges in as they offer no real nutritional value.

It is illogical for him to prefer them, but he cannot deny the simple pleasure of having something sweet, especially in a moment of emotional distress.

“Break ups always want to make me binge,” she admits.

Spock blinks. “I was unaware you were romantically attached. I am sorry to hear of the loss.”

She looks at him, then laughs as she pushes the doors open and leads the way out to the currently empty gardens. She selects a bench in the shade of a willow tree, and Spock sits next to her. “I’m not talking about myself. It’s obvious you’re attached to Jim, but I know how long distance, deep space mission affect partners.”

Spock shakes his head. “That is not accurate. Jim and myself do not share…that is…our relationship cannot be defined by human terms. I have known him and have cherished the bond I share with him since we were children.”

Her cheeks pink. “Oh. I…okay.” She bites her lip, then says, “Then I am sorry your friend is leaving.”

Spock stares down at his hands which look green tinged next to the white cup, and he considers her words. “I will miss him, but I believe that the separation is temporary.”

“You could always be assigned to the same ship in the future,” she chances.

Spock allows himself to smile, just a hint of one, as he looks up at her. “Indeed. And though I will be leaving earth, I do hope to see you again as well. I have come to cherish our friendship.”

Her cheeks pink, and she makes an aborted move with her hand before she sets her cup down and moves closer. Spock is confused by her intrusion into his personal space, but he thinks perhaps it is merely a human thing, and says nothing.

Her hand touches his thigh. “Some time ago, when we first met, I thought perhaps you felt that way about me.” Spock says nothing, still not certain as to her motivations. “Everyone told me to let it go, that having feelings for a Vulcan would get me nothing more than heartache. But I think you and I…”

He stops her as she reaches for him, his coffee abandoned as he takes her by both wrists. “Leila…”

“Spock, please. I’ve been falling in love with you for months, and I know you care about me…”

“What you believe to be between us does not exist. Cannot exist. Vulcans are unlike humans, Leila, and do not possess the same ability to feel emotional attachments on such a whim.” He’s desperately trying to come up with a way to tell her that his heart, his katra, belongs to Jim and has since he was four years old. But putting such specifics to it seems hurtful, and he thinks maybe it’s better to just give the knowledge that he is not capable of loving her. “I cannot feel that way for you.”

Her eyes widen, redden, water. One hand breaks free of his grip and touches his face. “Mr. Spock…please.”

“I am sorry, Leila. But I cannot change my nature.” He lets her go and rises. “I will have someone from my department assist you in my absence. Live long and prosper.”

He hurries off, briefly wondering if perhaps there will always be pain left in his wake—that perhaps his peers were right about him. An abomination—destined to be parted from his t’hy’la, and his presence to bring only emotional distress to those who would care for him. He thinks of Jim, the one he cherishes above all, who cannot stand to be around him while he is in pain. He thinks of his mother, who encouraged him to be himself, which only brought fracture into their home. Now Leila Kalomi who assumed that friendship could be more, and the only option he had was to break her heart.

Spock sighs and thinks perhaps it is better that he not allow himself to feel at all. Perhaps when his career with Starfleet is over, he will seek out Kolinar and rid himself of this desire to develop attachments.

He returns to his apartment and checks his comm. There is a message from Captain Pike, asking him if he can be ready a week early. Spock quickly responds with an affirmative, and sets his calendar, canceling any further appointments.

The second is from Jim, telling him he has arrived safely and wants to vidcall with him before he departs earth. Spock accepts, and soon enough, Jim’s face is on his view screen.

“I’m sorry I left like that,” is the first thing Jim says. He lifts his hand as though he can touch Spock, and the distance suddenly feels unbearable. “Carol just…threw a wrench into my plans and I didn’t know how to handle it. I bet you really regret befriending such an illogical human now.”

Spock allows himself a smile for Jim’s benefit. Were this any other circumstance, any other moment, he might have told Jim about Leila. He thinks at the very least Jim would find some amusement, and definitely empathy in the situation. But Jim is suffering, and Spock has no wish to add to that. “There will never be regret where you are concerned Jim. And I hope only that the visit with your parents brings you the comfort you need.”

“I should have stayed,” Jim says with a sigh. “It’s just not home here anymore, you know? I mean, they’re glad to see me. Dad’s not long for the world, and mom will be lonely when he goes. Sam’s never around anymore and I just…I feel like I should be a better son while I’m on earth.”

“As your parents were both officers, and both travelers,” Spock reminds him, “I believe they do understand your obligation to the Federation, and to your crew, and to your shipmates. And I believe they are proud of you.”

Jim’s whole face softens. “I want to be a better friend for you too. And this is a terrible way I’m doing it now, but it’s not forever, right? There’s still a chance we can get assigned together. The Farragut’s got another four years, then I’ll be looking for reassignment, and since I happen to know a Senior Officer on a certain Starship who might be willing to use a little nepotism…even if it goes against his delicate, Vulcan sensibilities…”

Spock feels a rush, because what Jim is asking is so simple, but it’s confirming a moment Spock has been desperately waiting for. “As we are not related, I do not believe nepotism will apply. However, as a decorated Starfleet officer—in both of our cases—I believe that our preferences will be taken into account when your reassignment comes up. And I will be more than willing to offer a recommendation to the Enterprise. I believe that the Captain will offer his as well.”

Jim’s smile is bright, it crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and makes Spock want to cross the long distance between them and press his lips to Jim’s in a human kiss. 

“Well, I should let you get some rest. I heard the Enterprise was shipping out a week early. You probably have a lot to do.”

“The change in schedule has indeed altered my ready plans,” Spock admits. “It would have been nice to finish our game, however there will be more in the future.”

Jim’s smile only gets bigger. “Save our game, eh? You’ll remember the board, won’t you?”

“I possess the same eidetic memory as most Vulcans,” Spock says by way of answer. 

Jim chuckles soft and low. “So we’ll pick this up where we left off then. Next time, right?”

Spock inclines his head. “Yes, Jim. Next time.”

They stare for a moment, Spock allowing himself to wallow in the longing, and then the comm cuts and he comforts himself knowing that Jim wants to be with him, and he can measure the moments apart now in a number of days. Hours, if he really wishes to.

It is not exactly as he wants it, but there is promise, and for now, that is enough.


	3. Charlie X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter gives some idea of how the rest of the episodic chapters are going to go. I might use the occasional line from the show, but I plan to show the moments between scenes rather than the scenes themselves unless it's super necessary.
> 
> I also wanted to note since I've been chatting a little with some people in comments- It's important to remember that Vulcan or not, Spock is emotionally invested in Jim, therefore he's an unreliable narrator. He uses logic, but he does make assumptions, so he might not always be giving the best information to the reader. But I promise everything gets clear by the end!

Spock thinks that he wouldn’t need to be bonded to Jim in any capacity to sense his nerves as the doors slide open. As he stands and announces, “Captain on the bridge,” he can see the shock of it on Jim’s face—the way the apples of his cheeks go pink, the way his eyes widen slightly. Spock can feel it, and he’s fairly certain that part of the anxiety is of his own making because it’s happened.

The last two months were a whirlwind. The attack on the Enterprise, the injuries—Spock’s included. The deaths of several ensigns, and Number One leaving the Captain was what sealed his fate, really. Spock knew Chris was considering either a promotion or retirement. Since Talos IV, he’d been wavering in his command. It was only a matter of time, and this was no surprise.

In a surprising human gesture, Spock took Chris out the night he was promoted to Fleet Captain, and allowed him to drink his fill and lament about the loss of lives, marriage, and the ship.

“It’ll be good though. Kirk…he’ll be good. And you…” Pike reached out, his hand brushing along Spock’s psi-points and letting himself open up, to feel his affection for him for all these years. “You’ll be okay too.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, and he took Pike’s hand gently in his, and pressed a human kiss to his knuckles. “You will remain the asset you are to Starfleet, and your life will not always seem so dark, sir.”

Pike merely smiled, and leaned into Spock, and allowed the Vulcan to see him home safely.

It is a strange adjustment now, to see someone else in the Captain’s chair. But it feels neither wrong, nor foreign that it is Jim. Spock feels something settle in his chest, like the feeling of Vulcan’s thin, hot atmosphere, and the spices in the air, and his mother’s hand on his cheek. The feeling is home, and he is untrained to recognize it, but it is so very welcome.

Spock does not miss the way Jim’s eyes seek out his far more than anyone else’s.

Spock’s hands clench slightly on his controls as Jim’s voice raises slightly above the electronic din. “Take us out, Mr. Sulu.” A shiver rises in him, and it’s only his Vulcan control which allows him to keep it from showing. 

They hit warp factor two as they pass the moon, and Spock fixes his attention on his panel. It doesn’t matter though, because he knows Jim is there now, just a reach away.

*~* 

_Pweeooo_

Spock’s eyes raise, and he doesn’t need to check his viewscreen to see who’s standing outside of his door. He orders it open, and he stands at attention with his hands behind his back as Jim walks in. It’s a strange feeling, it’s going to take some getting used to, having Jim in his quarters like this. Spock has had them for eleven years now, even when the ship was overhauled, and docked, this place was always his.

Jim’s gaze roves around it, taking in the little bits of Spock’s life that has accumulated there. Aesthetically pleasing rocks from a Class M planet they found in the Alpha Quadrant. A photograph of his mother that while illogical, he cannot seem to part with. Several terran books—Alice in Wonderland, which makes him think of his sister more than anything else.

And the badge.

He sees the way Jim’s eyes zero in on it, and the whole room seems to pause before suddenly Jim’s moving away from it and Spock feels like he can breathe again.

A moment passes, then two, and Spock finally breaks the silence. “Is there something I can do for you, Captain?” It’s a strangely formal thing he says, feels foreign on his tongue. It’s also not the first time he’s addressed Jim since the promotion. On planet, Jim was introduced to the main bridge crew, and they sat for a meeting to discuss their five year mission.

The idea of it still sends a thrill through Spock. He knows what dangers lie in deep space, and yet he’s been guaranteed five years with Jim, which feels strangely longer than the eleven they have spent apart.

Now is the first time they’ve seen each other in private, though. At least since it was made official, and Spock feels uncertain what to do with himself.

Something in him unknots though, when Jim’s face eases into a grin. “We’re off duty, Mr. Spock. Don’t you think we can dispense with formality? At least for a little while?”

Spock looks at him—really looks at him then. He becomes profoundly aware that Jim is now past thirty—which for humans is far older than a Vulcan at that age. Jim is still young, spry, so beautiful, but there are signs of age in him. The increased lines in the corners of his eyes, the barely-there strands of silver which are unseen apart from sharp, Vulcan vision.

All the same, this feels exactly like it was meant to, and Spock eventually inclined his head. “Of course, Jim. And I do not meant to imply that I am not gratified you have sought me out.”

“It’s been a while,” Jim says. He eyes two of the chairs Spock has never used, then he nods toward them. “May I take a seat?”

Yes, Spock wants to say. Yes, you may take a seat, and stay, and never leave, because this is where you belong. With me. Instead he merely nods again, then says, “Might I offer you refreshment Cap… _Jim_.”

Jim’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “No, thank you. I never did develop a taste for Vulcan cuisine, though your mom really tried hard with me.”

Spock allows the corners of his mouth to lift. “Yes, she was most persistent in her endeavors. As was yours, if I recall correctly.”

“You do,” Jim says, his grin easy. “And I’d trust your memory better than my own.” Jim stretches then, allowing his legs to extend, his arms curling behind his head. He glances around again, and his eyes focus on the lyre hung on the shelf above Spock’s bed. “You play?”

“I have played since I was a child.”

“I never heard you,” Jim says. “You never brought it to earth?”

“It would be an illogical waste of travel space, as it was used for lessons which I did not attend while I was visiting with you.” Spock walks over to, letting his fingers pluck at a string or two. It’s been some time since he’s played, and he considers it now, but he doesn’t want to waste what precious little leisure time he will have with his t’hy’la. 

“Maybe you can for us, sometime. I bet the crew would love it.” Jim stretches again, then sighs. “Was this always your room? I mean, back when Pike was Captain?”

“Affirmative,” Spock says. He makes his way over to the empty chair and sits, a little prim, with his hands on his knees, but he still hasn’t mastered the ability to relax in the human way. Jim doesn’t seem to mind, and it’s refreshing in a way because though he has known the crew for a long time, they still persist in trying to make him act human. Jim has never asked that of him. “Has your transition gone well, Jim?”

He smiles lightly. “It’s a change, I’ll tell you that, though I was left in command enough near the end there I think I got the hang of it.” He winks, and it’s only Spock’s control that prevents a flush rising into his cheeks. “I like it here, though. I half wish you hadn’t been so damned pragmatic when I graduated. Think of all those years we could’ve been together, Spock.”

Spock does think of that. Of course he does. At times, when he was without Jim, he thought of little else. But he thinks of all the things Jim accomplished, and all the potential dangers he might have been in. His leg still aches at times, especially now, freshly injured, and he knows that he is only grateful Jim’s life was never in danger on his watch.

That will change now, of course, but he will deal with it as it comes.

“Kaiidith,” Spock says, and when Jim frowns, Spock says, “What is, is. I believe the course of our lives would have brought us together eventually, and there is no logic in regret for what was not.”

“You and that Vulcan logic,” Jim says. “I can’t believe I missed it.” He smiles widely, then sits up. “If I’m remembering correctly, Spock, there’s a game of chess we never finished.”

It’s a testament to what Jim is to him that Spock cannot act fast enough to control the green that rises in his cheeks and ears. And it’s a testament to what Spock is to Jim, that Jim does not mention it. “I believe you are right.”

“Do you remember where we left off?” Jim asks as Spock rises to fetch the 3D board.

Spock huffs a little, allowing a little bit of his emotional vulnerability out—because this is Jim, and if Spock is safest anywhere to show both halves of himself, it’s here. “Do you doubt my memory, Captain?”

Jim grins again because he knows the use of his title is deliberate. “Not at all, Mr. Spock. I’ve been looking forward to this for a while. I believe I was just about to beat you.”

Spock lifts a brow as he sets the pieces exactly as he remembers them. “On the contrary, Jim, I am only six moves away from check mate.”

Jim’s eyes twinkle again, and the apples of his cheeks are round, and pink. Spock wants to affix his mouth there, to taste bits of Jim’s skin. “Is that so? Well…I suppose we shall see, won’t we.”

“Indeed,” Spock says. “And I believe it is your move.”

Jim eyes the board, then smiles. “I believe you’re right.”

In seven moves, Jim loses. He laughs about it, and he claps Spock on the shoulder and holds tight. Spock can feel through the touch, through the bond, how they both ache to embrace, but neither are willing to cross that line.

Spock’s eyes blink two point six percent slower than average, and he nods at his t’hy’la. “Perhaps next time, Jim.”

“Absolutely.” He backs up toward the door as it opens, then pauses in the doorway to look at Spock with affection in his eyes. “I really think I’m going to like it here.”

“In that, Captain,” Spock says slowly, “I am inclined to agree.”

~*~

“Captain’s Log, Stardate fifteen thirty two point four, just received communication from the Antares regarding a mission on…”

Spock feels a slight surge of guilt when Jim becomes aware of his presence and the log cuts off. All the same, he places his hands behind his back and waits as the door slides open. Peering inside, he notices Jim is wearing his usual, patient smile, and Spock senses nothing but welcome and contentment in him.

“Trouble, Mr. Spock?”

“Negative, Captain.” Spock walks into Jim’s Ready Room and stands beside his desk. “I merely wished to inquire if you have yet to partake in your evening meal.”

“Ah…no.” Jim glances over at the chronometer and sighs. “I guess it’s about that time, eh?”

“I apologize for the interruption, Captain,” Spock says. “I was unaware you would be completing your log at such an hour.”

Jim’s mouth spreads into a grin, his eyes glinting. “Already giving me grief.”

“As I took over at least forty-two point seven percent of the entry logs just last mission, Captain, I could only assume the habit has carried further,” Spock replies, and he feels a well of affection as the desired effect—Jim’s wider smile—is achieved.

“I’m new at this, alright,” Jim says and pushes himself up from the desk. He gives Spock a gentle clap on the shoulder as he passes by.

“You have been captain now for four point nine months, and as you were not only top of your graduating class, but named youngest Captain in the history of the Fleet…”

Jim turns to him, arms crossed, eyebrow raised in a very almost Vulcan-like manner. “Yes, Mr. Spock?”

Spock sighs inwardly. “You were born for this, Jim. Late paperwork or not, you have assumed a position in which you are naturally able to excel. I have remained proud of you all this time.” It is more than Spock usually allows himself to say. He’s been far less forthcoming—a fascinating development to say the least—since they started seeing each other in person. He admits to himself easily that it felt much safer to express his feelings through letter, when he was not in the presence of Jim and able to observe his reactions first hand.

It says something, perhaps about Jim’s understanding of the situation, that he has not commented on it to Spock so far.

At the moment he looks taken aback, but pleased nonetheless, and Spock is content with that.

“Let’s take our meal in here, okay? I want to pick your brain about Thasus.” Jim walks to the replicator and soon enough has a dish of vegetables for Spock, and some sort of sandwich for himself which smells heavily of cooked meat.

Jim sighs as he sits, passing Spock’s food over before poking at his own. “It’s never the same,” he laments.

Spock lifts a brow at him as he reaches for a fork. “The same, Jim?”

Jim lifts the top piece of bread, then lets it fall back down. “Replicated meat. Technology is an amazing thing, but nothing beats home cooking.” He eyes Spock’s plate. “Maybe I should convert?”

“I do not think you would find replicated root vegetables more pleasing than your meat substance,” Spock says with a small but wry smile. He hesitates, then breaks everything he knows about Vulcan protocol to offer out a piece of vegetable at the end of his fork.

Jim’s eyes widen, but he leans in and delicately takes the piece from the prongs, and Spock feels his entire body heat with warmth. After a beat, Jim pulls a face and it’s the closest Spock has come to laughing since he was a child. “You’re right. That’s…I’ll stick to my sandwich, thanks.”

Spock inclines his head just once, then says, “You wished to discuss our assignment, Jim?”

Jim nods, sighs, rubs the back of his neck, then picks up his sandwich and eats for a minute before he speaks again. “How much stock do you put in what Ramart has said?”

“About the Thasians?” Spock asks, and Jim nods. Spock abandons his meal, steeples his fingers in thought, and presses them under his chin. “Captain Ramart is formidable and recognized as a levelheaded commander. I do not believe he would buy into mythos regarding the planet should there not be some basis in fact.”

Jim hums as he chews another bite. “So you think this…assumption has merit?”

“I believe that when taking this passenger on board, Jim,” Spock says, choosing his words carefully, “we should be on some level of alert. The boy was on the planet alone for most of his life, therefore it is only logical to assume he was being cared for by someone or some thing. The sensor reports I have received show little to no life support for a human. I can only deduce something has survived on Thasus.”

Jim nods, and has that far away, contemplative look that Spock can watch for days…weeks…perhaps even years. Eventually, though, his gaze snaps up and he sighs. “We meet with them tomorrow, and there’s no sense in sitting around beating a dead horse, is there?”

“I find the phrase highly illogical, as there would be no reason to beat an animal once it has expired. Furthermore I find the very idea of beating the animal to begin with, a rather repugnant idea.”

Jim’s grin goes wider, and he winks at Spock. “Come on, there’s a chess match with my name on it.”

Spock follows, not finishing his meal, and refraining from pointing out just how illogical his captain is.

Or how much he cherishes it.

~*~

“Captain, if I might have a moment of your time?” Spock is well aware his voice is full of far more emotion than he ever lets in, but in truth, he’s shaken. He’s more than thankful that Jim is in his quarters, and when Jim realizes that his XO is in distress, he quickly shuts the door and takes Spock by the arms.

“What is it? Are you alright?”

Spock is suddenly overcome with an irrational fear that speaking about it will cause his own voice to silence the way Nyota’s had. His throat feels thick with apprehension. He can feel the echo of his fingers hitting strings that won’t make a sound, and his brain was able to pick up on a strong, psychic pulse that could have only come from one place.

“There was an incident in the recreation room,” Spock says, and gives in to the urge to look behind his shoulder. The door is closed firmly, of course, and no one has the override code to enter except Spock himself.

Jim’s fingers are a welcome presence, his thumbs rubbing absent circles along Spock’s tense arms, and his eyes are soft and concerned. “What happened?” he presses.

Spock comes to himself, squares his shoulders, and steps out of Jim’s grasp. “I apologize for my emotional outburst.”

Jim sighs. “Not to me, you don’t. Never to me. Just…sit down, Mr. Spock, and tell me what happened.”

So Spock does. He takes the seat and he addresses his t’hy’la, who is also his captain. He explains the incident—how he had been playing his lyre, how Nyota had joined him. Her song in gest had caused mild irritation in Spock, and though the lyrics were friendly enough about their new passenger, Spock has sensed embarrassment and anger from him.

“…and her voice was silent, along with my lyre. She has been to see Dr. McCoy who diagnosed her with an acute case of laryngitis, but I think even he doubts such a thing. There was no medical explanation, however, and the only hypothesis I am able to consider is it was a psychic attack.” Spock stops, swallows thickly, and finally meets Jim’s eyes.

He does not know what to expect. He has not dared feel over the bond out of fear that part of Jim will mock him, or find him irrational—illogical—too human. However all that Jim holds in his face is concern and belief.

“And you’re certain it was Charlie?” Jim asks.

Spock shakes his head. “I was unable to locate the source, however, the events correlate with the arrival of the passenger, and he has come from Thasus. It is only logical to assume.”

“Of course,” Jim says. “Without proof, however, I can’t act on that.”

“Yes, Captain, I understand completely. I merely wished to bring this to your attention. An unchecked psychic ability does not necessarily mean the boy is an inherent danger to the crew. However, if he truly was on his own for fourteen years, we can assume that he was not given proper guidance to develop a sense of morality—a sense of right from wrong.”

Jim blows out a puff of air, then nods. “It will have to be dealt with.”

“It may be logical to contact the Antares, Jim. Ascertain whether or not they experienced any similar incidences.”

“I’ll send them a message directly,” Jim says. He reaches over and flicks his computer on. “Computer, send message to Captain Ramart of the Antares to contact me directly.”

“Working,” the computer says. “Message. Sent.”

Jim clicks the computer off, then sits back and folds his arms. “We should head back to the bridge. At the very least, I think it’s in our best interest to act as normal as possible. If we make sure the boy understands we aren’t a threat, and only wish to help him…”

Spock nods. “Indeed. However, something we may need to consider is whether or not the boy can be trusted on Colony Alpha Five. His abilities may have been inherited—if there has been interspecies breeding, it’s possible that his relatives may help him with his abilities. However if it is an anomaly caused by his extended stay alone on Thasus…”

Jim rubs a hand down his face. “I’ll plot an alternate course…should we need it.”

“That would be wise, Captain.”

Jim gently brushes his hand over Spock’s shoulder, and Spock once again allows himself to bask in the comfort before rising and following his captain to the bridge.

~*~ 

The moment he beats Charlie at chess, he knows. He knows, because he’s prepared for the psychic assault, and he’s able to fend it off because Charlie’s frustration does not amount to power. Not yet. But Spock can feel it building, and it won’t be long before Charlie starts trying to extend himself further. The destruction of the Antares is evidently Charlie’s doing, and he knows Jim knows it. He also understands why Jim is hesitant to place blame.

What he doesn’t entirely understand is the feeling he gets through the bond whenever Dr. McCoy brings up Jim as a father-figure to this boy. It is only logical, and though Jim says nothing, and though he closely guards his own thoughts on the matter, Spock can feel an almost visceral rejection of the idea.

It’s confusing, however Spock has no intention of probing Jim on it further.

Especially as they have a bigger focus.

Spock finds himself lying on the floor with broken legs, attempting to control his pain as Jim debates this boy. Spock has the melted chess piece in his pocket sitting where the badge used to sit. He feels Jim’s concern through his grip, his unwillingness to let Spock go further than arm’s length.

“Charlie,” Jim warns, and there’s power in his voice, and perhaps it’s why Charlie relents, even if it’s with a threat.

Too many are hurt, and too many will be hurt if they are not careful.

In the end, Spock supposes it’s as climactic as any of their missions ever are. Their crew is restored, though the crew of the Antares is lost. The Thasians are apologetic for that, and Spock takes a moment to communicate with them through their thoughts as he accepts their apology, and conveys his understanding about why they had to protect the boy, and how they had not intended for him to leave.

And then it’s over. Charlie has been taken back, and the Enterprise is far from Thasus’ orbit, and they are as safe as they ever are. The crew who had been attacked are recovering. Spock had passed by Nyota in sickbay as her burns were treated, and she offered him a slight smile as he passed her.

“Perhaps another duet?” she said with a wink, reaching out to pat him on the arm.

Spock allowed her the same smile he had given her back in the recreation room, and he nodded. “I would be honored, Lieutenant.”

Spock considered visiting Jim, however the need for meditation was far more pressing, so he finds himself kneeling on the floor of his quarters with his incense lit and losing himself quietly to the recovery from the assault. He’s nearly finished when he hears the gentle call from his door, and instinctively he knows it’s Jim.

Spock takes his time, knowing Jim will be patient for him, and he returns to himself. He extinguishes the smoke, but remains in his meditation robes as he opens the door. He sees an appreciative look in Jim’s eyes for the lack of uniform, and he finds he does not mind the casual way Jim enters his quarters and sits down in a chair without being invited.

“Well,” Jim says, “that was something.”

Spock lifts a brow. “Indeed. Though I find your human words lacking, considering the situation.”

Jim chuckles, then his face falls a little. “The chess set. You know, I didn’t think it would bother me, but that was the very set you and I were playing on right before I uh…before I left for Iowa.”

Spock allows himself a very small smile as he walks to the chair where he had laid out his uniform. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out the white knight, which had been nothing but a burnt husk after Charlie had taken his frustration out on it. Now, however, it sits perfectly intact in the center of his palm.

“When the Thasians returned everything to the way it was, they did not miss a single detail, it seems.”

There’s a rush of relief which does not seem to match such a superficial item. Though Spock was illogically attached to the set, it would have been no trouble at all to obtain another, as the ship’s recreation stores had no less than a dozen boards and pieces. However, his relief does not match that of Jim’s, and he believes there is a psychological reason for it which Jim has not shared with him.

Spock chooses to address this later, and instead orders two cups of tea—a terran blend—from the replicator. He offers it to Jim who takes it without his usual complaint, and though he lifts his brows when Spock chooses to sit closer than usual, he does not comment on it.

“I am gratified we were able to solve the issue without harm coming to the boy,” Spock says eventually.

Jim hums, lets the rim of the mug rest below his bottom lip. He breathes in the steam, but doesn’t drink. “I’m not so sure he left without harm. I…I find myself wondering how he’ll survive, now that he knows what it’s like to be amongst humans, but also knowing he can never be with them.”

Spock closes his eyes for two point six seconds longer than a usual blink. “I understand, however given the circumstances, there were no other choices to be made.”

“I know.” Jim sighs, then sets his cup down and clasps his hands. His knuckles go white with the tension in them. “Even if there was, we could never be sure we made the right one, you know? You can write down the probabilities to the infinite point, but you can never be certain.”

“I find comfort in knowing that while there are no certainties when it comes to human life, that there is enough experience that you can trust your choice is the right one,” Spock says.

Jim looks at him, and in spite of the sadness in his eyes, he smiles. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Spock.”

“You have done well without me, Jim,” Spock reminds him. “However, I find I am gratified to know that you benefit from my presence on the ship.”

Jim’s smile grows, and it starts to reach his eyes, and Spock goes warm all over again. “I was never without you, Spock. I don’t think I’ve really been without you since I was a baby and you tried to steal me in that shop.”

Spock allows himself to blush at that, only because he knows it pleases Jim. He also wonders if Jim is perhaps subconsciously aware of their fledgling bond.

“I’ve never really felt apart from you, anyway. Even on Tarsus when…” Jim’s voice goes quiet, and Spock knows this is not something they will talk about willingly. Or at least, not often. “You’ve always been a comfort. A guide. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“There is no need. I find I feel similarly with you, Jim. I am only pleased that we no longer must deal with such a distance between us.”

Jim looks at him a long moment, then lets out a deep sigh and rises. He approaches Spock and reaches out. There’s hesitation, then Jim grips him gently by the side of the neck and leans in, kissing him on the temple as Spock had done so often, for so many years. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “Have a good night. I’ll see you for Alpha Shift.”

“Indeed,” is the only word Spock can manage right then, and he sits quietly, basking in the echo of Jim’s touch. It is not everything he wished for, but…

They are getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have most of the episodes/chapters planned out, but if there's anything you really want to see from the show, feel free to tell me in the comments!
> 
> Also, I had some really cool analysis debates with a few people in comments, and I decided that screw it, I'm making a tumblr so if anyone wants to come talk to me about Star Trek head canons and what not, I'm on there now here at [ashayamspirk](https://ashayamspirk.tumblr.com). My girlfriend has to help me navigate a lot of it because my braille display doesn't do well with icon buttons, and so much of tumblr is gifs and pics, so if it takes me a million years to reply, I promise it's not because I'm ignoring anyone. But either way, if you wanna come wax poetic about these space nerds, I'm super here for it.


	4. The Enemy Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this, and just as I hit post chapter, ao3 goes down so that...figures. Anyway we're back on track, and this is the Enemy Within chapter. It's mostly interim scenes, not really much IN the episode itself, though more with this chapter than the last one. I borrowed some lines, and ad-libbed a few others, but hte basic premise is the same.
> 
> warnings for this are pretty basic. The assault incident with Janice happens, but only in very vague mention, absolutely NO details. All the same, if you need to skip it, start here- “I just don’t know what to think,” McCoy says, holding a glass of Andorian whiskey between two fingers and his thumb." and end here- “We must remain vigilant and perhaps keep a closer watch over the Captain until we figure out what this is.”

He can feel Jim’s frustration through the bond, feel it as though it were his own, which has a slight impact on his performance, though Spock deems such things worthy if it means keeping Jim close. Their missions have been similar to those he experienced under Captain Pike, so very little is unnerving, though he finds the threats against Jim’s life a bigger stressor than he would have under another Captain.

And he supposes that it’s the captaincy and it’s the space travel wearing on Jim’s nerves, though tonight it has his a peak that Spock can no longer ignore. Spock had taken beta shift, so he was forced to wait out his post in the Captain’s chair, and he knows by instinct alone that Jim is sitting in the Observation Deck, either working on reports or simply musing on the events of the past several months. It is a test of his patience, however, to remain in his chair, on course, and not turn the conn over to Mr. Sulu who is primed for it.

Finally it’s shift change, and Spock allows himself ten minutes of meditation, and a cup of tea knowing that Jim is still on the deck, and that he has not gone to sleep. When he has centered himself, and he is certain Jim is alone, Spock finds him there, curled up on one of the longer view screen benches, one leg hanging down, the other clutched to his chest.

He doesn’t startle when Spock walks in, meaning he was on some level aware of his First Officer’s approach. The thought pleases Spock on an instinctual level, and he fights the urge to preen at the idea that his mate recognizes his arrival. He sits near, but not close enough to touch—at least, not by accident. When Jim’s leg brushes his own, he knows it was deliberate.

“Something is troubling you, Captain.”

“I’m off duty,” is his response.

Spock sighs inwardly, and amends himself. “Jim. If you wish to talk…”

“Tell me something,” Jim says, and finally looks over. His eyes are dry, not red, but there’s conflict in his expression—a wrinkle between his brows that Spock wants to reach out and soothe with the pad of his thumb.

“What do you wish me to tell you?” Spock asks.

“Anything. Tell me something…” He hesitates, and Spock can feel him considering his words, so as not to bring offense. Spock almost want to tell him that whatever he wishes to ask, Spock will never be offended. “A fond memory you have that isn’t specifically Vulcan.”

“You wish to know a piece of my human side which I look upon fondly,” Spock clarifies. Jim nods, and Spock is almost violently reminded of the small boy he had known in his youth. He’s still there, in the soft curves of Jim’s face, of the excitement in his eyes when they are on a dangerous mission. And here now, in the uncertainty of Jim’s posture.

“You don’t have to…I know it was a rude question, Spock. I’m sorry I…”

“When I was younger, I dreamt,” Spock says, ignoring Jim’s apology which is highly illogical. “It is uncommon for Vulcans to dream, and my father became very distressed at the idea that I would, so I kept it to myself. My mother, however, seemed finely tuned to my nighttime distress, so she began a practice of reading a terran novel to me just before I would fall asleep.”

Jim’s eyes went wide. “Alice in Wonderland.”

Spock allows the corners of his mouth to twitch up. “Indeed, Jim. I still dreamt, but the contents of them were less distressing. I found myself relating to the story, as like Alice, I was lost within a world whose nature I did not wholly understand, though it was expected of me. It gave me comfort in knowing that at the very least, humans experience this disconnect with their own nature.”

Jim’s mouth thins, and he lets out a puff of air. “That’s…a strange coincidence.”

“You are suffering,” Spock says, cocking his head to the side. “Regarding your human nature?”

“We lost four men on our last planetside mission. Four, because I hesitated, Spock. I envy you sometimes, the ability to turn it off, to not let emotion blind you to what’s best for the crew…for yourself.” Jim passes a hand down his face, his eyes closed in an emotional anguish that Spock is not sure he has ever experienced himself. “It was my fault.”

“Each being on this vessel is aware of the dangers, and no man is forced to accompany the crew off ship,” Spock reminds him. “Each being has been given the same training that you and I were given at the Academy. We did not go into this blindly, Jim, and many of those security men have been serving the Enterprise longer than you have. They are aware of the inherent dangers facing them each time we accept and carry out orders.”

Jim swallows thickly, then nods. “All the same, I’m their Captain. It’s my duty, Spock, to look at all sides and make a rational decision. I understand now why your people call emotions a disadvantage.”

“On the contrary,” Spock says, wanting desperately to reach out, but allows himself to be satisfied with Jim’s knee pressed against his own, “I have found strength in the ability to not only acknowledge emotions, but to allow oneself to feel them. I do not consider the accomplishments of my mothers, nor yours, a disadvantage.”

Jim looks up with fresh pain in his eyes. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know you did not, Jim,” Spock says softly, and finally, _finally_ allows himself to reach out and touch Jim, just a gentle brush of fingers across his wrist. “If anyone understands a desire to filter out a perceived, biological weakness, it would be me. However, it is something I have found more pleasing to live with, than to fight.”

Jim turns his hand then, and grabs Spock’s gently, like he had done when they were children. His palm is warm, and the emotions humming just under his skin threaten to overwhelm the Vulcan, which challenges his control. Still, he manages, and he grants this private moment to his t’hy’la—finds he would deny Jim very little.

“Thanks,” Jim says, softly.

Spock merely nods, and they fall into a silence, hands together, watching the stars pass.

~*~ 

Spock realizes there’s something wrong long before Dr. McCoy is at his door. There’s something straining the bond, something like a fracture, but he hasn’t the time to sink into meditation and attempt to discover the cause. There is a team still down on the planet—mostly comprised of his own scientists—so he must be prepared to take action should he need to.

“Do you have a moment,” Dr. McCoy asks, his voice lacking the usual disdain Spock hears when the doctor addresses him.

Spock nods, then steps aside to allow the CMO entrance to his quarters. He watches carefully as the doctor scans the room, then places his hand on the back of a chair before turning. “Did you notice anything unusual with Jim today?”

Spock lifts a brow. “Unusual by my standards, Doctor, or by yours?”

It elicits an eyeroll at the very least. “Jim showed up in sickbay earlier, demanding brandy. He seemed…” Dr. McCoy’s eyes flicker to the side, and it tells Spock he’s holding something back.

“You may tell me anything you feel is necessary or pertinent and trust that you are speaking in confidence, doctor,” Spock says.

The doctor looks surprised at this, but is also aware that Vulcans do not lie, and he nods his head. “He came on to me.”

Spock cocks his head to the side. “I admit I am not wholly familiar with the phrase, as I assume it means something less literal than attempting to place himself upon your person.”

“Yes,” Dr. McCoy says. “…and no. He…after he demanded the brandy, he drank a good portion of it, and then he attempted to elicit…he…” The doctor clears his throat. “It’s a sex thing, Spock. It’s a sexual thing.”

Spock is well aware that Jim has, and likely will, engage in sexual congress with others, but it is still a blow to his control, and it takes him a moment to speak. “You and the Captain…”

“No,” McCoy says roughly, shaking his head. “Not for…not for a long time, and what we had was brief and it was never ah…I mean.” He clears his throat. “He and I were both in a bad place personally. We took comfort in each other. We were never in love. But today, Jim was…not himself, and not at all like he was the time that we… you know.”

“I take it you refused his advances,” Spock says, more hoping than certain.

McCoy snorts. “You’re damn right I did. He wasn’t in his right mind—seemed wild, uncontrolled. Not like himself at all, so I was wondering about that planet. Anything down there that might have caused a change in him like that?”

Spock considers, then clasps his hands behind his back. “None that I was aware of, doctor, however that is most disconcerting.”

“He’s close to you than he is any of us, Mr. Spock. I thought it might be…prudent…for you to check up on him.”

Spock is uncertain how to take his words, because his tone suggests he understands something far deeper than he’s admitting to. All the same, it is also logical that a First Officer would make the welfare of his Captain his top priority. “Of course, doctor. I shall do so immediately. Is there anything else…?”

“Just keep me posted.” McCoy hesitates at the door, like he wishes to say more, and Spock cannot deny a measure of relief when instead of saying what’s on his mind, he leaves.

Spock takes his time before going to see Jim, not out of fear insomuch as not sure how to approach the Captain about this. It’s difficult to consider that Jim is suffering, but it no less probable after everything they have faced so far. A mild-altering substance is not unheard of, and there is every chance that some microorganism on the planet Spock was yet unaware of has infected members of the crew. It worries him, more than anything, as the last person he can stand to think harmed or in any way in danger is Jim.

It’s that alone that hurries his steps to Jim’s quarters. He feels immediate relief when he enters, and then he feels immediate distraction and _heat_ rising his face to face Jim without a shirt. His body is well-formed, and his skin is so _pink_ , different to Spock’s own greenish hue, and the strangeness of it entices him. His fingers itch to reach out, to touch.

He startles back to himself when Jim gives him a slight smile and an eye-brow lift. “Yes, Mr. Spock? What is it?”

Spock swallows thickly and controls himself. If Spock were human, he would have cleared his throat, but he is not. “Is there something I can do for you, Captain?”

“Like what?” At this, Jim looks properly confused, and to Spock, he certainly does not seem _wild_. He begins to doubt the doctor, yet he cannot turn and go just yet.

“Well. Dr. McCoy seemed to think that I should come and check on you.” Spock holds his arms behind his back gently, trying not to seem as though he’s prying into Jim’s personal affairs. Which he is not, though the idea that Jim and McCoy could reach a relationship where, yet again, they engage in intimate acts bothers him. He wishes to reach out, to claim Jim as his own.

Jim does not seem as though he feels attacked, but he looks more perplexed than before as he frowns, holding the shirt looped around his neck. There’s a slight hint of almost human sarcasm in his voice as he says, “That’s nice.”

Spock begins to bristle, and he knows he’s having trouble controlling the emotion from showing on his face.

Jim’s face does something complicated, like he’s exasperated, but it’s fond rather than annoyed, which comforts Spock. “Come on, Spock. I know that look. What is it you want to say?” There’s goading in his voice, and it warms Spock to know that Jim knows him so well. 

“Our good doctor said that you were…you were acting like a…” Spock considers his words, wants to be delicate. “A wild man.”

He expects possibly anger, or a huff. Instead he is rewarded with one of his most favorite laughs and Jim tugs the shirt down a little tighter. “Our good doctor,” he emphasizes the words, “is having you on again.”

Spock’s shoulders tense, and he’s immediately annoyed because it is very much like McCoy to play such a game with him. However, he cannot deny that there was real concern in the doctor’s words. And he does not believe that the doctor would have come to him with such intimate information regarding Jim. Still, Jim does not seem wild, and Spock can feel in the bond that there is genuine amusement at what he believes to be a prank.

Spock sighs visibly. “Indeed. Well, I won’t keep you, Captain. I will get back to work.”

Jim smiles at him, as bright as his face ever is, and winks. “I’ll be sure to tell him you were properly annoyed.”

And Spock would leave in that moment. Of course he would, because perhaps it is a bit of humor that he just does not, fundamentally understand. It is logical to assume this is the case, as it has happened before. Except then a ensign enters, and provides Spock with a possible answer.

It is both better, and worse, than he imagined.

~*~ 

“I just don’t know what to think,” McCoy says, holding a glass of Andorian whiskey between two fingers and his thumb. His arm hangs loosely over the edge of his chair, however the rest of his body is as tense as Spock feels. “I just don’t believe Jim would do such a thing.”

“It is logical to assume that he is capable, under the right influence. You, yourself, treated the ensign who returned with a strange substance…”

McCoy shakes his head. “Nothing that would create an alternate state of consciousness. I wouldn’t have allowed him out of my sickbay if that was the case, Mr. Spock, and I think you know that.”

“Of course,” Spock concedes. It twists his stomach to think of Jim capable of any such horrors, and considering he knows even the smallest amount of what Jim has suffered in his teenaged years, he is certain that there is another answer for it.

“He was clearly shaken up,” McCoy supplies needlessly. Spock, of course, has examined every nuance of Jim, both outwardly, and through the bond, and he is well and truly as perplexed as any of them are. Spock wishes, only for a moment, that he can confess the existence of the bond so McCoy, and perhaps even Jim himself, will trust his word.

“We must remain vigilant and perhaps keep a closer watch over the Captain until we figure out what this is.”

Spock’s mind can’t keep away from the animal they beamed up. The animal split in two. It doesn’t take a huge leap of logic to assume that quite possibly the Captain was subjected to the same fate. When Spock had told him quietly, “We have an imposter aboard,” he is certain this imposter was created from that malfunction.

What he doesn’t know is why Jim feels differently to him, why the bond feels strangely fractured. If this thing was a duplicate created using bits of Jim’s DNA, that would be one thing, but that doesn’t seem to correlate with the evidence presented.

The imposter Captain knows things that only Jim should know. And this imposter Captain has deliberately avoided Spock at all costs. When Janice had shouted for Spock to be retrieved, the imposter attacked, and then he fled.

It is this Jim, this Captain, who is now struggling, that clings to him. As though this Jim is craving Spock’s logic.

There is much to consider, and the more time that passes, the more Spock worries.

~*~ 

Spock knows that Jim is crumbling as he listens to him speak with Lt. Sulu. He feels Jim’s helplessness and his worry, feels him ripped apart from his other half—the logic, the emotionless, the cruel which allows him to make those calls without being paralyzed by fear.

It is only logical that Spock instruct the crew for now. He has put them through rigorous training for moments exactly like these, and he feels a surge of pride when he hears Sulu acknowledge it. He is not one for faith, he has not the nature for it, and yet he keeps a small amount of it because he does not want to lose these men, just as he cannot—will not—lose Jim.

There is a solution at hand, and it frightens them all.

“…can’t risk your life on a theory!” McCoy is shouting, and it makes something ugly and painful twist inside Spock to see the look on Jim’s face as he hesitates.

It is only nature for Spock to step in, because his t’hy’la is suffering, and he cannot abide by that. His t’hy’la is split into two, and for Jim to survive, he needs both halves. “I survive,” he says, and the other two men fall silent. Spock regards them for a moment. “There is a constant war inside of me—between Vulcan and Human, and I survive it. Through personal experience, Doctor, I survive it.”

He does not see concession in McCoy’s face, but he sees it in Jim’s. He trusts his logic in this—the logic which has calculated the possibility that the animal died of shock, not by any other means. Without an autopsy, the doctor is correct in stating that there is not enough information, but Spock is also aware he would not risk the life of his t’hy’la on faith alone.

The moment lingers, and it stretches, and then Jim decides.

Spock cannot help an irrational worry, however, as Jim takes the transporter pad. He cannot help but clench his hands, and close his eyes, and invoke the ancient pantheon of Vulcan gods because as illogical as it is, Spock needs hope more than anything that Jim will return as himself.

The fight to get his other half to the pad was enough. Jim is injured, he is terrified, his other half is begging. Spock can feel it now, with them together—the broken pieces of bond struggling to meld back together. Spock itches to do something else besides stand there, but he cannot.

His eyes close, and Jim whispers, “Energize,” and then they are gone.

~*~ 

It is far later than Jim is normally awake, but Spock feels him where this all began. The Observation Deck. He makes his way, and again feels illogical pride that Jim does not startle at his presence, only shifts over to make room. His back is to the wall, one foot stretched along the bench, and he lifts it, placing it onto Spock’s lap. When Spock closes a hand over his ankle, Jim sighs and his eyes drift shut.

“Tell me what it’s like, Spock.”

Spock lifts a brow at him, though Jim is not looking. “Clarify, Jim.”

“Not being afraid. You said it yourself, both of your halves are at war with each other all the time, but you…you’re not afraid. Not like I was. The emotional half of me was too gone to make a real decision. The other piece of me screaming in terror. That’s not you.”

“Perhaps describing my halves at war was not entirely accurate,” Spock says quietly.

Jim cracks one eye open, and smiles beatifically. “Just for effect then, eh? Trying to rile the doctor up.”

Spock huffs, allows one corner of his mouth to lift. “Perhaps. There has been a war inside of me. My desire to please my father, and the desire to publicly acknowledge my mother as a person who has—in no detrimental way—affected the person I became as I grew into myself. I have not felt that conflict in many years, and knowing you has eased that for me. In more ways than one.” Jim’s pant leg has rucked up, and Spock rubs his thumb along exposed flesh.

Jim leans into it, shifts just a little closer. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I have faith,” Spock says, and ignores the way Jim’s lips stretch into a knowing grin, “that you would have made the right decision, whether or not I had been at your side to advise you. I have seen you in many forms, in many ages, Jim. I know what you are capable of.”

Jim hums, and through the bond, Spock feels Jim consider the piece of him he has not shared. The piece of his life after Tarsus, which shaped so much of who he is now. Perhaps that was Jim at his worst—perhaps that was Jim at his best. For now, Spock is unaware. However, he finds it does not matter what he does or does not know. The Jim he holds in his hands now is the one he wants.

“Bones told me he uh…sort of came clean about our you know…” Jim clears his throat, then shrugs.

“Your sexual activities,” Spock offers.

Jim turns bright red. “Uh. Not the way I’d put it, but yes.” He rubs his face, then sighs. “I just wanted you to know that it’s not…it isn’t a thing. It’s not ever going to influence my decision making.”

“That was no concern of mine, Jim,” Spock assures him. “It is only natural to form attachment and to act on them. If you care for the doctor even now, I’m certain that…”

“No,” Jim says in a rush, and Spock feels relief like a punch to the solar plexus. “No that’s…” he laughs softly. “That’s not us anymore.”

“Indeed,” Spock says.

“Anyway, I just wanted to clear that up. I’ve got my lady here,” he rubs the metal beneath where he’s sitting. Then, after a long pause, “And I’ve got you. What more do I need?”

Spock just smiles at him—the soft, small thing which Jim knows for a Vulcan, is a full-blown grin. They lean into each other just a fraction more, and Spock feels contentment settle in between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on medical leave until September, and I started a tumblr here- [ashayamspirk](https://ashayamspirk.tumblr.com) so if y'all want to come bug me while I'm bored and my girlfriend is away for work, please feel free. I also posted a chapter list on my tumblr if you're curious to know what's coming.
> 
> Up next: The Naked Time.


	5. The Naked Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay hmm some notes here...
> 
> I'm not going to lie, I struggled with this one a bit. I had migraines, and trying to get the tone right and the story without just doing a simple re-telling of the episode was more of a struggle than I thought it was going to be. But I think I did okay at it. 
> 
> I have recycled some of the dialogue, particularly between Christine and Spock, and then between Jim and Spock, though not totally verbatim.
> 
> It's a little dark. The virus brings out some severe self-doubt in Spock so the theme isn't very light-hearted at all. It was emotional to write.
> 
> Warnings: for canon violence between Jim and Spock which is about the same level as the episode, but not drawn out. Still, take care if that is difficult for you.
> 
> Otherwise I hope you enjoy this! It's one of my favorite episodes, but man I didn't think it was going to be as hard to put into a chapter. I hope it's not total trash!

Spock is never certain whether or not Jim can read him because he is getting careless with his emotions—particularly excitement in this case—or if Jim is simply able to feel him through their bond. The former makes him nervous. The former makes him think of his father, and his father’s constant worry that Spock’s human side would eventually eclipse the Vulcan. It is illogical, as Spock is simply parts of each, and though at times his sides struggle to dominate his reactions, to choose one over the other would go against his very nature. It was a lesson he had to learn after leaving his father’s home, and one that is painful still.

It does not change his worry that his human side is growing too dominant. Humanity is uncomfortable, makes him itch inside his skin when he finds himself too readily smiling, or an urge to laugh bubbling to the surface. He wishes to share these things with his t’hy’la, who will understand them as they are, but too many on this ship wish him to be something else. He has long-since learned to ignore the doctor’s cries when Spock is not human enough—and the accusations that come with it for being a devil, for being soulless, for being incapable. Some days he wishes to drop his control, to force McCoy to see inside his mind, to feel just how deeply he feels.

But that is not Spock, and having grown up tormented, it is far too easy to let those insults pass by.

It does give him a thrill, however, when his Captain—his t’hy’la—understands him. When Spock’s outward appearance is calm, but there is a twinkle in Jim’s eye as he claps Spock on the shoulder, or holds him by the arm and tells him, “I know this gets your science motor revving, so you prepare your away team and you can head up this mission. I’ll hang back on the ship.”

He wishes then to crowd Jim up against his chair, to take his face in his hands, to feel Jim’s mind under the tips of his fingers as he presses their mouths together in human kisses.

He does none of those things.

He simply nods at his Captain’s orders, and prepares his team.

The frozen ship _is_ fascinating, and the readings he logs on his tricorder are invaluable. It is also disconcerting to see humans frozen, lying dead and wasted on a ship with no visible explanation. It sends waves of apprehension through him, because any threat to his ship, to his crew, to his Captain, makes him bristle. It nudges some ancient, feral part of him that wants to possess and protect that which he cares about more than his own life.

He gives in to none of this. He takes his readings, and eventually they return to the ship.

Jim seems as perplexed and disturbed as Spock assumed he would be, and far less fascinated by the collapsing planet. Jim sees the gravitational pull, and even the unknown mystery of the frozen ship more as a threat than as something to study. But when Spock forgets himself and begins to ramble about what’s happening to the planet, he sees a little glimmer of amusement in Jim’s face. It keeps him from pulling back, from stiffening his shoulders and returning to his post right away.

He basks in it.

~*~ 

To use what Spock deems an unusually accurate human colloquialism, all hell breaks loose within hours of returning to the ship. It starts with his science officer dying, and then left and right people are becoming infected. He doesn’t need to touch to feel the stress McCoy is under, or the panic hovering just under Jim’s skin at the rapid decline of the ship toward the planet’s surface, and the chaos aboard.

It hits the peak when communications and controls are hijacked, and then Lt. Sulu is carted off after attacking Nyota at her post. Time becomes a commodity they do not have, and Spock will only confess to himself, in the most private of thoughts, that he is well and truly concerned for the safety of both the ship, and the threat to his t’hy’la who could be exposed at any moment.

He does not think of himself, which in the end he supposes was his downfall.

“Miss Chapel?” he says, walking into sickbay. He doesn’t hear the doctor’s familiar grumbling, and he hopes it’s a good sign—that perhaps McCoy has found something with what they both collectively believe to be a very contagious virus. Chapel looks…strange, which instantly concerns Spock as by this point anyone is a potential carrier, and he must avoid being infected at all costs.

She turns her head just slightly.

“Where is the Doctor?”

“He’s just gone down to the lab,” she says quietly.

Her voice is unlike her usual, hard, perfunctory speech, and he knows then, the probability she has been infected rests at ninety-six point five percent considering she is the nurse treating the patients. It frustrates him, as losing medical personnel is as dangerous as it would be to lose the Captain, or Lt. Scott.

He moves to the comm and flicks up the switch. “Labs?” Silence greets him. “Labs, this is Commander Spock. Labs?” His voice is rising and his control over his frustration feels dangerously close to cracking. He is now warring with a very primal piece of him—something leftover from his father’s forefathers, the pre-reform barbarians who took what they wanted by force, protected those they loved through bloodshed—is urging him to take Jim and leave this place because _everything_ is a threat.

He fears, just a little, what the virus might do to him.

Realizing he cannot communicate with the labs, he resigns himself to going down himself in an attempt to find the doctor. He turns, but suddenly there is a hand on his. Chapel turns him, her pupils wide, her skin shining with the thin sheen of sweat which seems to be the first indication of this virus’ infection.

“Men from Vulcan treat their women…strangely, don’t they?” she says, and she clasps his hand harder as he attempts to pull away from her. He hears the unspoken words in her voice—that they possess, they own. And it is true. He cannot deny that primal part of him that seeks to possess every part of his mate, and he understands the culture that has bred. “I don’t think you’d be like that,” she says. “I think you’d be different.”

Spock succeeds in pulling away from her, only to have her crowd into him, a hand reaching for his face. “Nurse Chapel…”

“It’s Christine,” she all-but begs him.

He says nothing.

“I’m in love with you, Mr. Spock,” she admits, and he cannot tell, even through his telepathy, if she truly believes this. It seems…a strange thing, to love a man you have not known. She served on the ship when Spock was first assigned, both under Christopher, but to love him simply because of time…

It was another moment humans made no sense.

“You, Mr. Spock. You the human…you the Vulcan…”

“Nurse, you should…”

“It’s Christine,” she says, her voice rising, almost angry. Her hands tense on him, then relax and she looks broken. “I see things, I see how honest you are, how you feel. How you feel about…” She cuts herself off and gives an angry laugh. “You try to hide it, but I know.”

His heart is thumping wildly against his ribs, and he feels stripped bare and exposed and wonders how many others have noticed the way she has. His love for the Captain, his loyalty. His vulnerability. His lack of ability to truly show it in the way he knows Jim needs.

He tries to shut it off, but as she speaks, his mind floats back—his Vulcan abilities never allowing him to forget a single second. He sees the infant in his arms, held awkward and squirming. He sees the soft face of Winona Kirk, and her voice telling him that he cannot possibly provide Jim what he needs to survive.

And he knows better now, knows that humans are like plants in a way that they must have affection, sunshine, water, food. But they can do without some, for periods of time, even if it warps them. But it again triggers his fear because he does not want that. He does not want his nature to warp Jim into something unrecognizable. He cannot…he _cannot_ be responsible for the light in Jim’s eyes going out simply because Spock is too much of himself.

“I see how we must torture you with the way we are…how human we are,” she is saying.

Spock steps back from her. Dimly, he registers the burning heat in his palm, the very human sweat glands he inherited from his mother firing now, a prickle of moisture escaping his pores. “I am in control of my emotions,” he tells himself, not quite sure if he’s speaking aloud.

She steps forward, reaching for him. “I don’t know why I love you, but I do.” She manages to seize his hand again, pressing his knuckles to his lips.

He feels sympathy—agony—for this. For the pain this will cause her if these emotions are true. For the pain he will cause Jim for his inability to be anything other than he is.

He flees, into the corridor, getting only a handful of steps before he collapses back. He squeezed his hands into fists, feels things rising in him which have never been given free reign to rise before. “I am in control of my emotions,” he tells himself again.

How many times? How many times has he said it? How many times has his control allowed himself to express the truth in how he feels? To his father—never. To his mother…

He’s dimly aware he’s somewhere else now—he’s at a terminal, and sobs are ripping from his chest. His control is gone, and his hands shake as he grips them into fists on the table. His eyes squeeze shut, and he conjures his mother’s face perfectly. He sees her smile—her soft human eyes so like his own, crinkled in the corners. He hears her laugh, feels the softness of her palm as it touches his cheek, his hand. He recalls the possibly single kiss he has given her, a press of lips to her temple, just to prove he is worthy of Jim.

He does not know that he believes that now. That he is worthy. That he ever has been—ever could be.

“I am an officer,” he tells himself. “My duty is…my duty is to…” The ship. To Jim. To loving and protecting his t’hy’la and he has failed at that. The virus is racing through his system, and he has failed Jim, and the ship is spiraling and he has _failed Jim_ …

He cannot be what Jim needs if he cannot even tell his own mother…

“One…two…” _He is just learning to speak. He is chubby-faced and toddling, and he looks up at her and repeats the words he hears her say so often. “I love you, mama. I love you.”_

“Three…four…five…” _A scraped knee, an attack from school and her special brand of comfort, a nightmare._

“Six...six times.” _Jim is alive—he is alive, and Spock can feel it, and whatever massacre that happened on Tarsus had spared him. He can feel his mother’s fingers brush through his hair, and the quiet way his voice feels in his throat as he tells her, “I love you, mother.”_

And that…

That is all of them.

Everything. 

He has never truly spoken those words—not in a way that Jim’s humanity would understand them—to the one he cherishes above all others, and that is how he has failed.

~*~ 

He feels Jim on the ship, feels him growing closer, feels him enter the room in spite of the haze the virus is creating. He struggles with his control, but Jim is desperate, trying to get him to focus and understand and come up with a plan to save them because they are minutes from death and Spock has failed and…

“Jim, when I feel friendship for you,” his brain cannot supply the word that his heart wants, “I am ashamed.” He feels nothing but shame at his inability to be the human his t’hy’la needs.

There’s a sharp pain, and Jim is striking him, and begging him, and Spock is struggling to the surface of this thick, suffocating fog and he’s drowning, but he will do this. For Jim, he will do this. Even as his t’hy’la’s control slips, and he’s begging and terrified, and Spock cannot make sense of the words but he feels Jim’s panic through their bond. He strikes Jim, feels his own horror, even if it drags Jim out of the fog—even for a moment.

“Ashaya,” Spock murmurs quietly.

Jim is tugging at his hair, and Spock can feel the echo of their hand-clasp, a gesture to intimate for him to contemplate now. But he cannot let that be his focus. He _must_ save the ship, save the crew, save himself…and save his Captain.

“We’ve got to risk implosion, it’s our only chance!” Jim shouts, and Spock can smell the blood on Jim’s breath from the wound his own hand caused.

Spock struggles to reach himself, his logic. “It has never been done.”

“Don’t tell me that again, _science officer_ ,” Jim says, and the words strike Spock right in the center of his chest, right where Jim meant them to strike. “It’s a theory! It’s possible!”

Spock’s mind, grasping, begins to calculate in spite of what the virus is doing to him, in spite of his attention divided because Jim is losing himself now almost completely…and he is suffering, and the pain is almost overwhelming Spock’s own.

Spock supposes he will never truly know if they would have saved everyone had it not been for the timely arrival of Mr. Scott. But his own mind will never let him forget the broken, terrified way Jim asks for help, the way his eyes _have_ lost that light. The only comfort he can bring himself is that it was not his own doing, but the disease that nearly destroyed them all.

~*~ 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jim says, leaning casually in Spock’s doorway with his chessboard tucked up under his arm, and that light back in his eyes.

Spock realized that cure or not, he is not fully himself. Not just yet. He has been avoiding the crew because of this, apart from his shifts, but he does accept that if he is to be vulnerable, he would do so in Jim’s presence.

He says nothing, but steps aside, and he brews two cups of tea from the replicator as Jim sets the board up. Spock makes a considering noise as he realizes that it’s a game he and Jim had engaged in at the beginning of those three days which were lost, and now regained.

“You’re not the only one who can remember the boards, Mr. Spock,” he teases.

Spock sets Jim’s tea down, and does not mention that five pieces are in incorrect positions. It is no matter, not now.

“I suspect you’ve been in here this whole time contemplating everything you can do now with this new ability for time travel,” Jim says, and it’s then Spock hears the apprehension.

“The ability, while fascinating, has no bearing on my job, nor does it appeal in any way. I find myself quite satisfied with the progression of my own timeline.”

Jim hums quietly as he moves his bishop, and it is clear to Spock then his attention is not on the game. “I suppose you’re right.”

Spock hesitates, but he allows himself to ask, “And you, Jim? Is there nothing you would go back and change?”

Jim looks at him, and Spock can feel something dark along their bond, something still wounded, and Spock realizes the insensitivity of the question. Before he can open his mouth and withdraw with an apology, Jim huffs a laugh. “Seems illogical, doesn’t it? Not only the risk of creating a paradox, but I…think I like who I am today, and changing even the darkest parts of my past would alter that. So why do it?”

“Indeed,” Spock says. He cannot bring himself to confess that the thought of Jim being anyone other than who he is now terrifies him. “The possibilities will for now, remain a theory.”

“Just the way you like them, eh?” Jim says, and he winks.

Spock gives just the barest huff, and puts Jim in check. He sits back, and then takes a sip of his tea.

“Spock,” Jim says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, and Spock looks at him, sees questions burning in his eyes. “I…before. In the ah…when we…” He absently brushes at his lip which has been fully healed, though the motion gives Spock an instant rush of guilt. He was not himself, but to raise his hand to one he loves so deeply… “You called me something. In Vulkhansu, I think. You’ve used a variation of it before. Then again, maybe it was the virus messing with my mind. It had me thinking so many…” Jim trails off, clearly not willing to relive it, and Spock is grateful for that.

“You remembered accurately, Jim,” he tells him, his voice just as soft.

Jim meets Spock’s gaze, imploring, and it thrills Spock to know the light is still there, that nothing was ruined, or broken. “You used a lot of your own language with me over the years. Those letters…”

“Indeed, I have,” Spock says, but makes no move, not until Jim asks because Spock simply cannot bring himself to say it on his own.

“You…I. What is it? What is it you want to tell me but can’t?”

Spock closes his eyes, leaves them that way a moment longer than he should.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jim says quickly, as though Spock’s distress far outweighs his curiosity. “I don’t mean…”

“It is a term of endearment, meant to convey my…” Spock struggles for the words in Standard. “Affection for you, Jim. To convey my feelings. I am sorry I have been unable, all these years, to express your importance to me.”

“That’s not true,” Jim says, suddenly defensive. “Spock, of course I know.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “Of course. And I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. I just…I’ve always liked it. It was something that was ours, and it was only ever in the letters, so hearing it there…I felt so lost, but that word was like a beacon and it kept me tethered to you. So. Thank you.”

Spock nods, and lets the corners of his mouth curl up as he reaches out, and moves his knight. “Check mate.”

Jim looks at the board, then back at Spock, then throws his head back and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to stop by tumblr and say hi here at [ashayamspirk](https://ashayamspirk.tumblr.com) and talk Star Trek with me!


	6. Conscience of the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I mentioned on my tumblr that post-op, I have no more usable vision so I have to do some O&M training for the next few weeks so I can get cleared to go back to work...boo. It means my writing will be delayed for the next chapter.
> 
> However I tried to make this one extra long (6400 words, longest one yet!) so it'll maybe make that wait worth it.
> 
> Anyway no real warnings for this. I used a lot of the episode dialogue, and there's a lot of Spock pining and worrying. There's no actual talk of Tarsus IV and Jim's experience there. I tried to keep it like between the scenes, but there were a couple of important Bones and Spock moments I had to keep in so sorry if that sounds repetitious with the episode.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

Spock feels a moderate surge of irritation at the change of course—it’s not against protocol, but it doesn’t make any sense for the Captain to divert course for this. They are an exploratory vessel, and the USS Majestic is within range of a single light year to Planet Q. They are far more equipped to handle the assessment of the new food source.

Spock opens his mouth to say exactly this to the Captain, but he falls silent at Jim’s withering look. “Don’t,” is all Jim says.

Spock is slightly taken aback at the harsh tone. “Captain, as First Officer, it is my duty to ensure that our mission and our ship remain on course. As such, the Majestic is well within range to…”

“I said don’t,” Jim bit out, his voice crisp. Spock immediately blocks the bond to avoid being overwhelmed with whatever emotion is causing Jim to behave so irrationally. “It’s my duty as Captain to make the calls I feel is best not only for our ship and crew, but for those under Federation protection. Assessing a new food source is one of those things, Mr. Spock. I would appreciate a lack of insubordination when it comes to my First Officer.”

Spock reels back slightly as though he’s been slapped—he feels that way a little. However, he does not outwardly react. Simply, he nods, and turns in his chair and begins his work again. When Jim is ready, Spock knows he will confess.

His only real disappointment is that Spock expects it sooner, but by the time they are within Planet Q’s orbit, Jim has remained stoically silent on the matter.

~*~

“Attention,” Jim says, the message broadcast to the crew, “I will be beaming down with a small landing party to speak with Dr. Leighton, and we will be in orbit of Planet Q for no more than twenty-four hours. Commander Spock will be acting Captain while I’m planetside, so any requests for a few hour’s shore leave will be cleared by him. If you must leave, keep the visit to less than ten standard hours and prepare to be aboard before my return. Captain, out.”

Spock turns and stares at Jim who is determinedly not looking back. After a moment, Spock says, “Captain, do you believe it’s wise to beam down without any other senior officers present? It is unlike you to…”

“I don’t recall this being any of your business, Mr. Spock,” Jim says.

The entire bridge goes silent—tense, and looking anywhere but at Captain and First Officer. Spock eventually nods his head once. “As you wish, Captain.” In spite of the bond block, Spock manages to feel a surge of regret…and something else, something Spock is wholly unfamiliar with when it comes to Jim. Something almost like…fear and nostalgia all in one.

He’s uncertain what this is all about, and it worries him.

Jim does not hesitate when he leaves the bridge, and though the Captain had been occupying the Captain’s chair for some time, when Spock sits, it feels cold.

~*~ 

Spock is pacing. His incense is lit, and his meditation mat is spread in the center of the floor, but he cannot calm his mind. He feels a thread of Jim in the bond, though it’s muted, but there is tension in it that Spock is unused to. He feels the urge to go against orders and beam down, to ensure that nothing is truly wrong with his t’hy’la, but duty eclipses such a need.

He cannot find himself able to reach a place where meditation will be beneficial. It is a strange feeling, but not wholly unfamiliar. As a teenager, he struggled with the divide between Vulcan and human nature, and where meditation would have come naturally to any of his peers, often it alluded him. He had once overcome such a thing, so the return of it is not welcome.

He finds himself startled when his door buzzes, and he palms it open to find Nyota’s face in a drawn expression. It takes him far longer than it should to realize what has gone wrong. “I have missed our appointment.”

Her shoulders sag, and her expression changes from frustration to worry. “Are you alright, sir?”

Spock nods once. “I…find myself distracted, and I apologize. It was not intentional.”

“I certainly never thought it was.” She hesitates, then leans on the door. “Is there something I can do to help you, Mr. Spock?”

Part of him wishes to say yes, to confide in someone who is not Jim, but they are not friends. Not entirely. They have something, though, and it’s enough for Spock to step back and say, “If your schedule permits, perhaps we can work in here.”

She looks surprised, and Spock realizes it’s because he does not invite other members of the crew into his personal space. He can feel nervousness pouring off her, but she is brave, and she is strong, and she does not really hesitate when she nods and steps in. He catalogues the way her eyes rove, and the way her expression shifts subtly as she takes in all the things that Spock would never show the crew. Personal things, things that make up his past, and who he is today, and things that only Jim has ever seen.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” she says.

Spock shakes his head quickly. “You are not.” He goes to the replicator and punches out two drinks—tea for himself, and a mango-based concoction he has seen her drink on multiple occasions. He places them on the table, then retrieves the lyre from the space above his bed, and hands it over. “I believe you are making sufficient progress.”

Her smile is somewhat dimmed, but she looks pleased nevertheless. “Thank you.”

Spock shakes his head as he lowers into a chair, and feels gratitude for this time with Nyota—only because it means he will have something other than Jim to focus on until the Captain is aboard the ship once again. “It is not flattery, your skill, especially for a human, is impressive.”

She looks slightly amused, as most humans do when Spock pays a compliment—though he hesitates to categorize it as such. It is simply a logical statement about her skill. The instrument is difficult to master, even for his own race which hears pitches and tones that most humans cannot. But Nyota has a particular auditory talent which extends to both languages and, as Spock is discovering, music.

He gets to work, gently instructing her on the most recent combination of chords which are beginner for a Vulcan, but intermediate for her. She stumbles a little, but the motions of her fingers are becoming more natural as she flows through them, and he simply drinks his tea, nods along, and corrects whenever necessary.

Before long, nearly a standard hour has gone by. Jim’s anxiety has ebbed and flowed along the bond, but Spock senses both calmness and determination, and the typicality of that allows for his worry to lessen.

“I suggest you take it with you,” Spock says as Nyota rises from the table. Her eyebrows raise in surprise, and he clasps his hands behind his back. “As I will not have time to play it in the near future, and as it will be some time before we are close enough to acquire one of your own, it is only logical that having it in your possession will benefit.”

“Alright. I promise I’ll be careful with it.” She holds it gingerly, and he finds it strange and yet endearing that she puts value in something that can so easily be replaced.

“I will endeavor to be more present in our next lesson,” Spock says, a sort of olive branch—a phrase his mother had loved and Spock had secretly enjoyed hearing.

“I’m not worried about it. I know there’s a lot going on,” she says as she lingers in the doorway. She was on the bridge, witnessed the tension between Spock and Jim. He’s briefly embarrassed by the display, but he senses no judgement in her. He sees her to the door, and he finds himself quieted and finally, finally, able to meditate. 

~*~

Sulu has the conn, and Spock is in the lab when he hears the Captain’s return to the ship. He’d felt Jim’s intent, but allowed himself to become distracted. All the same, he can’t quell the simmer of discomfort just under his skin. He forces himself to finish his work, which takes nearly a standard hour. When he’s finished, as easy as it would have been to run to Jim’s side, Spock returns to the bridge first, to check on their status.

“Mr. Sulu, report,” he says.

Sulu stands. “Engineering says all systems are go. We can leave orbit on schedule, Commander.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Spock does an internal calculation, then does a mental check for Jim and is certain he’s in the conference room. “I will inform the Captain and report back with a status update.” He’s aware of the crew’s knowledge that there is tension between him and the Captain, but none of them draw attention to it.

Spock is used to such scrutiny, and would face it a thousand times before he would elect to have Jim shutting him out in this way. Never, in the history of their relationship, has Jim hidden pieces of himself from Spock. Not like this.

He finds him exactly where he anticipated, and he notices the way Jim jumps, and looks almost guilty. Spock gets a glance at the computer screen before it goes dark, and he recognizes the face of Kodos almost instantly. Something in him goes on high alert, but he is in control enough to prevent it from showing.

All the same, he sees the expression on Jim’s face. And then comes the question. “Mr. Spock, you know Dr. Leighton, don’t you?”

“Affirmative,” Spock says, frowning.

“Would you say he’s a man given to fantasy?”

Spock shakes his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “I would say he’s a good, empirical scientist. Steady, reputable, and occasionally brilliant.” All of which is true. Spock knows him, but not well enough, he thinks, to speculate on what the Captain truly feels. He probes the bond a little, but is only gifted with uncertainty and concern on Jim’s end.

“And a long memory, too,” Jim mutters.

Spock’s curiosity is more than piqued, but he pushes it down. For now. “I have no information on that, Captain.” Because there is nothing else logical to say. Illogic has Spock wanting to kneel between Jim’s legs, to press his fingers to his psi-points and allow them to meld, to find whatever is causing Jim this distress and eradicate it. But he knows that would not be welcome. So he says simply, “We are ready to leave orbit, Captain.”

Jim is not looking at him, and when he speaks, his voice is full of something Spock cannot yet name. “We’ll delay departure for a time.” Spock is startled by this, but does not show it as Jim suddenly rises to his feet and brushes past Spock with determination in his steps. “I’ll be beaming back down to the planet.”

Spock follows him out of the room, because what else is he meant to do.

~*~ 

They part ways in the corridor, Jim for the transporter room, Spock for the bridge. Only halfway there he diverts, and he finds himself standing in the sickbay, hovering in the doctor’s doorway. McCoy is aware of his presence, but has yet to acknowledge him in favor of writing on his PADD. Spock is grateful for the reprieve in order to collect his thoughts. Perhaps being here was not the best choice he could have made. He is not doing his full duty to ship and crew, but Jim is t’hy’la, and nothing will override Spock’s base nature—which is to ensure Jim’s safety and happiness.

As of now, Spock is uncertain of both.

After a time, McCoy sighs and looks up. “What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”

Momentarily, Spock is confused by the lack of mocking. Normally the doctor would have disparaged his biology, or made a quip about his lack of contracting illness. Only he looks and sounds as tired as Spock feels.

“I am…concerned about the Captain,” he says.

McCoy’s eyebrow raises and he sits back, crossing his arms. “Oh yeah? Usual stuff, or something new?”

“The Captain’s behavior has shifted since we received word from Dr. Leighton regarding this food supply. The Captain returned to the ship with no information regarding the supply, and I…” Spock hesitates, but he knows if he’s to confide anything to anyone regarding Jim, the good doctor is his best option. All the same, he’s not certain bringing up Kodos is a good idea without having some hypothesis—some link between Jim’s behavior and the photograph.

He was silent too long, and McCoy snorts. “Maybe our good Captain just needs to get laid.”

Spock is well aware of the meaning of the term, and he fights down an irrational surge of jealousy, crossing his arms and fighting down a green blush. “I am certain the Captain’s proclivities, or lack their of, have no bearing on his current state. I merely wished to inquire if you had noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Not presently, but I don’t always know with that man. Known him a long time,” McCoy says, and rubs a hand down his face, “but in all this time, I could never fully pin him down.” After a beat of silence, “Doesn’t he usually come to you for whatever’s botherin’ him?”

Spock can’t help but glance down at his feet, and the feeling of discontent comes roaring back. “In this situation, he seems reluctant to confide in me. As it is my job to make sure nothing is compromising his command, I am investigating.”

“Well, I got nothin’,” McCoy says. “But if I notice anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Spock can do little else but nod. “Doctor,” he says, and then turns, leaving sickbay to attend to his duties. If McCoy knows nothing and Jim will not speak to him, Spock must consider other options.

~*~ 

He’s in the Captain’s chair waiting for orders when he feels it. Shock, overwhelming grief, enough for him to lose his breath for a second. It’s his control only that keeps him from showing it. His hands grip the armrests and he forces himself to close the bond, to distance himself from the emotions. Spock stares up at the view screen, then over at Nyota expectantly, as though he’s waiting for a message to come through.

She’s going through some old records, working on a few Andorian translations, and she catches his eye and looks confused. Caught out, Spock turns his gaze away, and regulates his breathing.

When the call comes through, Spock’s at the ready, his entire body tense and waiting and expecting Jim to call from him.

“Bridge here, Captain,” Uhura says.

Spock’s knuckles go white with his grip.

“Put me through to Captain John Daley of the Astral Queen, and scramble it, will you?”

Spock frowns deeply, and does not argue with the Captain’s orders, even as Nyota gives him a concerned look. But she will not, of course, disobey a direct order from her Captain. So she does, and Spock loses access to the communication. All he has is the pulsing anger and grief through the bond which is strong enough he cannot trust himself to maintain while experiencing the full scope of it.

The thought alone terrifies him, and his desire for Jim’s return, for Jim to open up to him again, is all-consuming.

~*~ 

All is as it should be on the bridge. Jim is in the Captain’s chair, and Spock is preparing for departure. He approaches Jim with some caution, allowing his hand to gently brush along Jim’s back as he walks around the edge of his chair, the motion surreptitious and not lingering. Jim does not seem opposed to the touch, in fact leans into it ever so slightly as Spock resumes his usual stance beside Jim’s chair.

“Ready to resume course, Captain,” he attempts, because he feels something more coming from Jim right now. A hesitance.

It is confirmed when Jim says, “I think we’re due for a pick-up,” and it turns out he is implying a troupe of actors which performed on Planet Q the night before. 

“Captain,” Uhura says, interrupting Spock’s confused train of thought, “Miss Karidian has beamed aboard the ship and requests permission to see you.”

There’s a strange thrill that Spock can’t help but feel from Jim at the sound of her name—again a feeling unlike any he’s ever experienced. And then others he knows well. Wonder, excitement, even a warm heat of want, and it makes his fingers clench into fists, and makes him want to deny the request even as Jim sits up straighter.

Even as Jim says, “Tell her to come up to the bridge.” There’s a twinkle in his eye, and something about his wonder and excitement doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like determination.

He can’t help himself as he manipulates Jim’s chair, turns him, stares into his eyes trying to desperately read his t’hy’la. Jim may not fully understand what he is to Spock, but surely he knows Spock will do anything for him. It is simply in his nature to put Jim above all else.

Jim gives him nothing except a quiet, personal smile.

~*~ 

There’s a certain thrill that runs through Spock as he sees Jim sitting at his station. It’s primal and possessive, and he thinks _yes, this is my t’hy’la, and he exists where I exist._ It’s an easy thought to push aside, of course, especially when Jim orders the computer to read out the data he requested, and the first thing Spock registers is Kodos’ name.

He catalogues the information Jim is listening to. 

Nine eye-witnesses of Kodos himself. The computer reads the list, and Spock is unsurprised to hear Jim’s name on there. He feels a mild moment of shock when Dr. Leighton is named. And he registers the same surprise when he hears Riley as Jim does. Then Jim orders the list to stop.

When Jim orders Spock to transfer Riley back to engineering, Spock only argues with him in an attempt to goad Jim into explaining why all of this is happening. Why Kodos is being investigated, why Jim is acting strangely. It is no difficult task to make the connection to Leighton—and to the famine. It only makes sense Jim would be sensitive to such a thing, and now knowing Dr. Leighton and Jim had been together on Tarsus IV…

But Jim does not give him answers, merely orders him to perform the duty he assigned. “I don’t wish to discuss it. Please follow my orders, Mr. Spock.”

The dismissal is more painful than the short, clipped, cold tone Jim is using. Spock feels shut out, and the thought of being so far apart from his t’hy’la, and yet so close, terrifies him.

All the same, he is a dedicated First Officer, and he carries out Jim’s orders.

~*~ 

Finding himself in Leonard McCoy’s office for the second time in so many hours is disconcerting. He has a plan—in a way, but he knows he cannot do it alone. And he knows he must impress upon others, who care about Jim, that discovering the cause of Jim’s upset is imperative for both the function of the ship, and for his own wellbeing.

McCoy, as ever, is slightly contrary. The moment the door slides shut with Spock on the inside of it, he grabs a bottle of brandy and pours himself a drink. “Your concern is touching,” he says.

Spock fights back a sigh, fights back the very human gesture of pinching the bridge of his nose. Instead he clasps his hands in an iron grip and lets the pin-pricks of pain keep him centered. “I will admit it is personal concern, there is no logic in lying about that. But it is more than simple emotion, Doctor. There is something wrong with the Captain.”

McCoy gives him his usual smirk. “Mr. Spock, when the man on top walks along his street, the chain of command is often times a noose.”

Spock fights down the surge of irritation, of McCoy deflecting. “Spare me your philosophical metaphors, Doctor,” he says, and approaches the desk. He’s dangerously close to showing emotion now, and that adds to his unease. “The captain is acting strangely, and I’m simply asking if you’ve noticed.”

His smile softens and he says, “Negative,” though Spock hears a lie in it. He watches McCoy’s eyes flicker down to the dark liquid in his glass. “You know, this is the first time in a week that I’ve had a drop of the drew. Would you care for one, Mr. Spock?”

Spock does sigh, though he does not think the good doctor has heard it. “My father’s race was spared the dubious benefits of alcohol,” is his answer, which is a non-answer. In all honesty, in this moment, Spock has never wished more for his senses to be dulled. If he closes his eyes for even a minute, he can feel Jim somewhere along the bond, his emotions a swirling mess that he cannot make sense of.

McCoy merely snorts a small laugh. “Now I understand why they were conquered.” Spock finds it useless to respond, so he moves away, but it seems the doctor is not finished. “Why are you so worried, anyway? Even when he’s not fully on his game, he usually knows what he’s doing.”

There is trust in that, years of trust that Spock has not been privy to, and has not been brave enough to ask about. There is love there as well, a very human sort that Spock’s Vulcan side has deprived him of—or perhaps saved him from, he’s not entirely sure just yet.

He looks at this man—this man with preconceived notions about the Vulcan race, his expectations that Spock behave outside of his own nature. Though perhaps the doctor is often softer with his remarks than his peers were, Spock is crudely reminded of his torment as a child, and McCoy is nothing but another reminder that he fits in nowhere.

Though others have come to understand him and accept him—Nyota for example who is still put off by his alien nature, has attempted to know him for who he is—it has only ever been Jim that accepts him as a whole. As two parts of one being instead of one thing that should be another.

“It was illogical for the Captain to bring those players aboard,” Spock finally answers him.

McCoy’s eyes go wide, and there’s something hard and almost unkind in them when he says, “Illogical? Did you get a look at that Juliet? That’s a pretty exciting little creature.”

Spock pauses to question himself. Is it jealousy driving his desires now? It is not entirely unthinkable. He desires Jim wholly and completely, and once they cross a certain line, there will be no going back. Spock will tolerate things now, but in the end, he will not share him.

He knows McCoy is vaguely aware of _something_ between them, and perhaps he’s being goaded. Spock finds a slight irritation building in him the way that McCoy has reduced the woman to nothing more than a potential body for sexual congress—that Jim would be so shallow. Jim has shown deep interest in her, but Spock has probed the bond and while there has been want, there remains that other feeling Spock cannot name.

It is not love, not even a human version of it. It is…darker. It is somewhere along the lines of fear.

“Did it occur to you, Mr. Spock,” he goes on, “that Jim might simply like the girl.”

Spock cannot help his arms crossing, defensive and frustrated, and he cannot help his utter honesty, either. “It occurred. I dismissed it.” He then brings up Riley, because surely the doctor will end his goading and understand there is more to it than simple hormones. That Jim’s behavior is a blaring signal that something is not right.

McCoy gives him a very knowing look. “Lots of things going on around here that I don’t know about, Mr. Spock.” McCoy pauses as the words hit him.

There is no doubt now that McCoy understands exactly what Jim is to Spock.

McCoy sighs and sits back, his voice more casual. “Anyway, he’s the Captain, he can transfer people as he sees fit.” He attempts to goad him into more alcohol, to push because McCoy is now fixated on … something. Spock isn’t sure. Perhaps a confession that yes, Spock lives and breathes for Jim. That where Jim might find liaisons in other people as they travel through space, Jim is it for Spock—there is not, and never will be anyone else.

But he cannot let himself give in. The doctor will not see reason, but Spock is not hopeless yet.

This has something to do with Kodos, and the actors are involved, and he knows now that Jim has been extracting information from the computer. So he has only one other choice. He knows this will betray Jim’s confidence—Jim has asked him once before not to pry, not until he was ready to share.

But Spock believes now that if he does not act, Jim’s life could be in danger.

~*~ 

He sits on the empty, darkened bridge between shift changes, comforted by the silence, and yet restless. The computer is correlating the information he needs, and though that is accomplished, Spock feels far from satisfied.

Jim is with _her_ now, and those feelings are once again racing across the bond and into his mind. Jim is using her for a purpose, and though Spock has seen it happen before—Jim utilizing whatever he needs in order to save the crew, or himself, it unsettles him now. It unsettles him now, because Jim is on the ship, and he has more than five hundred crew members who would do anything he asked—loyal and willing. And yet he remains stoically isolated in whatever is happening, whatever has dragged Kodos to the forefront of his mind.

Spock cannot deny Jim’s reaction to the trauma. It makes logical sense that he would have immediately rushed to investigate anything that would prevent a famine. It makes sense that he would react to anything involving Kodos, though Spock is still uncertain how the dead man is involved. Spock does not like being unable to see the whole picture, and his impatience is getting the better of him as he waits for the computer’s results.

“Information received,” the computer tells him, making him startle.

“Send information to my terminal,” Spock says.

“Working,” the computer tells him. “Terminal 456-B6, information received.”

Spock sits back in his chair, and he puts his hands over his face in an attempt to shut out this feeling of discontent. He drops his hands when he hears the doors slide open, and his heart hammers low in his ribs when he sees Jim freeze, staring at him clearly startled.

“Mr. Spock, you’re not on duty.”

“I could say the same for you, Jim,” Spock says, and he sees the way that in spite of everything, using his name in such a way still turns the apples of his cheeks faintly pink. “I was merely finishing up a computer matter.” It is not a lie.

Jim raises his brows, but says nothing as he makes his way over to Spock’s chair. His hands come to rest on it, the backs of his knuckles pressing against Spock’s shirt, and he fights the urge to lean into the touch. He feels starved for Jim, starved for their easy relationship which he has, until now, taken in some capacity for granted.

It is too like the years he spent apart from Jim, only perhaps worse because Jim is now here with him, and close enough to touch—sometimes touching. And yet, he has closed himself off so thoroughly and readily.

Spock feels near begging.

“Jim,” he says, very softly.

A tiny breath, something like a sigh, and Jim’s hand falls to Spock’s shoulder, caressing up toward his neck. There’s purpose in it, and something else—searching perhaps, for something that he’s not in his right mind to ask for.

Spock wishes to prevent anything that may force Jim to live with regret, so he merely reaches up and takes Jim’s hand in his, pressing them palm to palm. He stands, and cups the side of Jim’s neck, and leans in to press his lips to his t’hy’la’s temple. He lingers there, feeling overwhelmed with Jim’s relief, feeling too close to the edge of reaching out to take more than Jim is ready to give.

“I am here,” Spock says. “Whatever is troubling you…”

“Please,” Jim begs. “Just…not now.”

Spock’s hand moves to the back of Jim’s neck and holds there, and he feels Jim is comforted, as much as he is comforted. He smells _her_ on Jim, clinging, cloying. Jealousy does rise in him, but it’s easy to manage because he knows it means nothing. He allows Jim to lean into the touch, to press his cheek to Spock’s collarbone and simply take what he needs. Jim’s hair is soft under his fingers, as it always has been. Spock allows himself to conjure memories of their youth, of Jim’s solid presence bringing him comfort in a world that felt hopeless and chaotic. 

Spock never truly understood how grounding Jim’s presence was until he was without it for so, so long.

Jim steps back first, and his eyes are shining, though dry. He takes Spock’s hand and presses his lips to the backs of Spock’s knuckles—not quite a kiss, a smudged thing, but the affection and intent behind it is everything.

“I’ll be okay,” Jim promises.

Spock is not entirely sure he believes that. But all he can do is continue to investigate, and trust.

~*~ 

In the end, it’s as anti-climactic as it ever is. 

As expected, Spock solved the mystery of the correlation between Kodos and the actors within minutes. He only truly berates himself for not spending more time in Lenore Karidian’s company. Perhaps then he would have recognized the signs in her—had recognized the true dangers on the ship.

Kodos is dead, and she is subdued. McCoy has suggested a treatment facility for what he claims to be, “An acute case of Stockholm Syndrome and Schizophrenia which can be easily managed once she’s given the right plan.” Jim is stoically silent on the matter other than to give the order for the ship to divert course so Lenore can be properly cared for.

He is not speaking with Spock at the moment—but Spock expected such a thing. He understands the trust he’s violated, and he accepts these consequences. He knows, however, that his actions were necessary. Jim’s emotions had compromised his actions—placed Lieutenant Riley in further danger, along with himself. 

It is by sheer luck—not a term Spock will ever use lightly—that Riley will recover, and that Jim remained unscathed.

At least…physically.

Four days pass before Jim speaks to him outside of work capacity.

Spock has just finished his lesson with Nyota, and is preparing his mediation mat when the alert sounds. He palms the door open, and though he shouldn’t be, he is surprised to find Jim there. The Captain is dressed casually, in sleep pants and a t-shirt, and he shuffles his feet, looking far from the confident man that commands a Starship.

“Jim,” Spock says carefully.

“Can you delay your meditation?”

“Affirmative,” Spock says, as though he would deny Jim anything. He steps aside, and Jim enters. At a loss with how to approach this, he simply punches in two cups of tea and waits as the replicator provides. When he turns back, Jim has made himself comfortable on the couch, and looks at Spock expectantly.

“You can stop looking so terrified, I’m not here to yell at you.”

Spock crosses the room and sets the tea on the table before settling in beside his t’hy’la. He says dryly, “I considered no such thing, Jim,” knowing it will make him smile.

He’s rewarded with the smallest upturn of Jim’s lips. After a beat of silence, “I should have told you about Karidian. About Lenore. And…and Kodos.”

“You were under no obligation to…”

“I was,” Jim says. “As my First Officer, you were in the right to make the choices you made, and I knew that. Even when I was…when I was furious, I knew that. But also Spock…” He licks his lips, then takes another moment of silence as he sips the tea. He sets it down, and Spock notices a slight tremble in his hands, and fights the urge to gather them into his own. “You’re my friend.” He shakes his head. “No, it’s more than that. I don’t really have a word for what you are to me, Spock, but whatever that is, you deserve to know. Because I don’t trust anyone the way I trust you.”

“T’hy’la,” Spock murmurs.

Jim blinks at him. “T’hy’la,” he repeats, and butchers the word with his human tongue, but that is no matter.

“It is the word you are searching for. There is no equivalent in Standard. It is friend, it is brother, it can be lover. But it is more than those things, and it is what we are to each other.” There’s something intense about this confession—something he’s held inside him for so long. But after these events, and in this moment, he can no longer keep silent. “It is more than ashayam.”

Jim blinks, and his eyes are wet, and Spock starts to panic, but Jim gets control of himself, though his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “T’hy’la. I…yes. It feels right.”

It feels right because there is a bond between them, but Spock does not tell him that yet. The burden will be too much for Jim before he’s ready to make that choice. They have time for that in the future.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says after another pause. His voice is stronger now, and he shifts closer to Spock, reaches for his hand and it is given willingly. “I went to a planet—kind of like the one we sent Lenore, and I was diagnosed with PTSD.” His eyes flicker down to his lap. “My dad was worried—hah,” he laughs a little harshly. “It was the worst fight I’ve ever seen my parents in. My dad was worried that if I got an official diagnosis, that it would bar me from being able to serve as a Captain. My mother was furious at him for trying to put my career ahead of my mental health.”

Spock squeezes his fingers, rubs his thumb along Jim’s knuckles and does not think of how lewd the gesture would be back on his home planet.

“They compromised. I was there for a year—I kept up on my studies, and I got therapy, and I learned coping skills. Then my dad had my record sealed and I applied to the academy.”

Spock swallows thickly, but does not know what to say, so he remains silent.

Jim uses his other hand to drag down his face, his sigh harsh and trembling. “Most of the time I don’t even think about it, you know? But then Thomas called and I just…” He shakes his head. “I handled it wrong.”

“You handled it as best as you were able,” Spock reminds him.

“Which was not the best thing for my crew—for Riley, for you.” Jim squeezes his eyes shut a moment, then looks over at Spock imploringly. “If I had told you years ago, you would have been prepared. And I should have listened to you. Insisting on trusting my emotions only…”

“Jim,” Spock says, and the room goes quiet. After a moment, he says, “You are not obligated to forgive Kodos simply because he showed a moment of remorse at the end. His mental state did not negate what he has done to four thousand others—to you, to Riley’s family. It does not negate what he has done to his daughter.”

Jim winces. “I used her. To get to him.”

“I know,” Spock confirms.

Jim’s smile is brittle, and he looks moments from fleeing the room, so Spock considers it a particular triumph that Jim is still holding his hand. “I still didn’t think it was her. Not…not right away.” He leans his head back and his grip on Spock loosens, but doesn’t stop. “Do you really think she can get better.”

“I am unqualified to give a hypothesis on the matter, though the good doctor seems very confident in the facility she will attend,” Spock says, trying to sound as reassuring as he can. “You were able to recover from such a trauma.”

“It was different,” Jim argues.

“Yes,” Spock says. “Yes, it was different, but so is the trauma of countless others in the known galaxies. The facilities and trained professionals exist for a reason, and though I do not have the data in which to base a hypothesis, I have learned enough from you, Jim, that I am able to _believe_.”

Jim stares at him, and this time his smile reaches his eyes, and lights his face, and Spock wants to kiss him. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “I guess you’re right.”

Spock caresses the top of Jim’s hand with the tips of his fingers. “It is over now, Jim. Truly over.”

Jim’s lips purse, but he shuffles even closer, and lets his head fall to Spock’s shoulder. “When we were little,” and Spock feels a thrill because it is a reminder they had something before all of this—something that no one else on this ship shares with the Captain, “and things were bad at home for you, did it help? When you came to see me, when we shared a bed and all my stupid stuffed animals. Did it help?”

Spock leans his head down, cheek pressed to the top of Jim’s hair, and he turns his nose to breath him in for a moment. “It helped,” he admits.

Jim sighs out a long breath. “Can I stay? I don’t think I want to go back to my quarters right now.”

Spock holds him just a little tighter. “Of course Jim. You can always stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any questions feel free to find me on tumblr [ashayamspirk](https://ashayamspirk.tumblr.com)


	7. The Court Martial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter, I realized, is much better told almost 100% between scenes of the episode, so that's what I did. Especially since Jim and Spock don't have a lot of screen time together. 
> 
> Warnings for grief at the beginning.
> 
> A little angst, mostly fluff.

Spock expects him after the shift and is not disappointed, nor is he surprised by the state Jim is in. Every Starship Captain knows he will lose men. He will lose men even on the most innocuous missions—but when the red alert is sounding, it is almost a guarantee. Spock has seen more death than he cares to think about most days, logic determines that he made the choice to face the idea of mortality when he accepted his post in Starfleet. He worries constantly about his parents, about Jim, about those on the crew he’s closest to, but he does not fool himself that it is not within the realm of possibility that it will happen.

But Jim has always taken it harder than most. Jim seems to feel every death like it is a personal loss—though this time, Spock knows it is. This time, it’s Lt. Finney, someone Jim had spoken of years ago in letters. Someone Jim had agonized over because yes, it earned him a promotion, but it put a blight on Finney’s career and Jim lost someone dear to him.

Spock could all-but feel Jim’s grief in those comms, and he feels it physically now as Jim steps into the warm circle of Spock’s arms and does not hold himself back as he cries. Spock is not entirely aware of himself as he bustles Jim back through the door and closes it with a command that will allow no one to enter beside the one man who is already safely within the walls of his space. He takes several calculated steps backward, does not trip, and manages to get himself and Jim onto his sofa without disrupting the other man’s desperate clinging.

Spock cherishes Jim above all others, but feels woefully out of practice and uneducated in how to deal with such an emotional outburst. His mother, for all that she was so _very_ human, held herself in check, surrounded by those who would find such a display vulgar. In a way, Spock regrets her never truly being herself, never showing him this side of things so he would understand what he’s meant to do.

He checks through the bond, searches, and finds in Jim just a base need for comfort, for the feeling of another warm body against his, and that, Spock can provide. He shifts so Jim is curled into him, and Spock curls his fingers through Jim’s hair in a gesture he has seen with intimate couples before. Jim’s tresses are soft, surprisingly coarse to the touch, which lights up the sensitive ends of his fingers, and he finds himself wanting to dig in deeper. So he does, dragging blunt nails along Jim’s scalp until suddenly he realizes the crying has stopped and Jim is breathing evenly against him.

He is not sleeping, but his heart-rate is at rest, and there is gratitude and shame flickering just under his skin. Spock says nothing, letting Jim control the moment, wishing to prolong it and afraid any sudden movements will send his t’hy’la running.

After some time, Jim takes in a breath which is still wet with tears, and trembling only loud enough for sensitive Vulcan ears to hear. “He was my friend.”

“Yes, Jim,” Spock says.

Jim clears his throat, and his voice is clearer when he speaks again. “We hadn’t…he resented the assignment here. We were assigned on the same day.”

“I recall the manifest, yes,” Spock says, because of course he does. He has catalogued every second of the day that he and Jim were reunited on this ship.

“He didn’t want to serve with me. Especially not under me.” Jim shifts up and swipes his hand under his nose which is dripping, and though Spock should rightfully be disgusted by such a gesture, he finds himself endeared by the splotchy pink color of Jim’s cheeks, and the bright hazel in his eyes which the tears have only made stand out that much more. He sighs, rubs a hand over his face, but does not pull away from the curl of Spock’s arms which rest at his waist still. “I never meant…He thinks I used him, and I think part of me will never forgive myself for what I did.”

“You were merely following protocol,” Spock reminds him. “You were not promoted because of the report, you were promoted because of your loyalty and your duty. Jim…you are aware of this.”

Jim let out another breath, this one trembling louder, and his eyes again went bright with tears. “I know.” He sniffs and looks away as a few of the tears escape the lower lid and leave bright tracks on his cheeks. “I know. But he blamed me for it and maybe I just wasn’t sorry enough.”

Spock reaches out, and when his hand comes into contact with Jim’s cheek, Jim is pliant, allowing himself to be turned, allowing their gazes to meet. There is more desperation there, more want, and Spock wishes to give it to him, and yet Jim is emotionally compromised and Spock will not risk his t’hy’la ever regretting a moment they have together.

All the same, he can do this. He can draw Jim close and offer him that comfort he once practiced on I’Chaya so often, until he was certain the sehlat wished to devour him than be stroked and kissed one more time. Spock’s fingers brush at the shorn hairs at the back of Jim’s neck, and Jim arches against it, almost against his own will.

“Whatever past lay between you and Lt. Finney,” Spock says, trying to conjure an unpracticed comfort in his tone, “it had no bearing on the events today. As much as you fight against it, ashaya, there are scenarios you cannot win, and today was proof of that.”

“I can’t accept that,” Jim argues, but his tone is not angry, but merely hurt. Anguished.

“You must,” Spock insists. “You must. Finney was aware of the risk, just as you are, and I am, and every member of this crew is prepared for before accepting assignment. Finney had the ability to turn it down. He chose not to—whatever his reasons, the choice was his own. He could have turned you down, Jim. A Captain’s orders are not absolute.”

“Feels like they are sometimes, and I’m not sure that responsibility should be put on the shoulders of someone like me.”

“I do not believe,” Spock says as he gathers Jim close and comes nearest to a true meld than he ever has with his lips resting against Jim’s temple, “that I would trust that responsibility to any other man.”

~*~ 

It is perhaps misfortune, or bad luck—though Spock’s logic will always fight against such an idea—that it is not over with the death of Lt. Finney, but simply the beginning. Jim is brought in for questioning, and although the statements of all crew on the bridge that day matched Jim’s report, Spock must do his duty and inspect the computer log.

It is there he finds the discrepancy, and it is there he sits stunned, at his work-station, trying to use his own infallible logic to understand how—how—any of this could be. Because he knows Jim. He knows Jim better than he knows himself, or even his parents whose minds are still not closed to his through their family bond. And yet Jim’s claim does not corroborate with the computer log.

It shows Jim jettisoned the pod before the red alert, and yet Spock knows without a shadow of a doubt that this cannot be. This is not possible.

His hands curl into fists and he cannot work around it. He runs test after test—knowing he is terribly late, feeling Jim’s concern and worry growing with every passing moment. But Spock cannot beam down and present evidence against Jim without proof that the computer was wrong.

And yet—there is nothing. Each test run shows the log to be accurate, and he cannot understand why.

It is with fear and resignation that he takes the log in his hand, the hard plastic biting against his palm, and he presents it to the Commodore. It is with fear and resignation that he watches the Commodore inform Jim of what the log shows, and it is with fear and resignation that he sees Jim turn a betrayed gaze on Spock who can do little more than meet it with steady eyes.

“I do not believe the log is accurate,” Spock tells him the moment they’re alone. “The log shows something you are simply incapable of doing.”

Jim is still shaking from his confrontation with the Commodore. Spock was not present for all of it, but he felt every second searing into him through their bond, and he was forced to sit and mediate through it until Jim found him again.

“I’m not sure I have a way to prove my innocence beyond proof of my character,” Jim tells him, and there’s a faint trace of hopelessness that Spock cannot abide by.

They are alone, so Spock takes him by the shoulders and holds him steady like a promise. “I will discover the truth.”

Jim’s eyes close a long moment, then he steps into Spock’s embrace and holds him, and it almost feels like a goodbye. Almost. “Do what you can.”

“Everything in my power,” Spock vows. It’s a benediction, echoing through their room, and then they part and Spock feels every gaping inch between them like a physical chasm.

He beams back aboard the ship and begins his work as Jim finds his way to McCoy’s side. At the very least, he will not be alone.

~*~ 

“I’ve met the prosecution,” Jim states. He’s sitting on a chair with his hands clasped between his parted knees. Spock wants to go to him, but under the keen and watchful eye of Dr. McCoy, it is impossible to do so.

“Tell me you’re not considering that plea deal,” McCoy insists.

Jim gives him a tired look. “Am now, more than I was before. But no, Bones,” Jim says and sighs. “I’m not taking a plea deal because whatever is happening here, I didn’t jettison that pod before the red alert.”

“I believe you,” McCoy says.

Jim looks at him, then over at Spock. “They’re going to put the crew on the stand. You’ll be first, Mr. Spock.”

“I am aware, Captain,” Spock says. He takes some comfort in the normalcy of their titles. “I am prepared to give my statement.”

“You’ve examined the computers as thoroughly as you can?” Jim asks, a superfluous question because he knows perfectly well Spock has. More than once.

“I have found no error,” Spock says.

McCoy scoffs and rises from his seat. “You’d damn well better find one, Spock.” Then he storms out, and Jim hangs his head. Spock still wishes to close the distance between them, but he does not dare.

“Don’t mind him,” Jim mutters after long moments. “He’s…”

“He is succumbing to his very human emotions,” Spock says. “Fear, frustration, helplessness. He knows character witness holds very little against the cold facts of a computer log.”

Jim swallows thickly, then looks up at him. “You know I didn’t do this, don’t you?”

“Affirmative,” Spock says. He rises, and considers touching Jim, but instead takes a step toward the door. What will be more helpful now is giving confidence to Jim’s allies.

“But the computer…”

“Is incorrect,” Spock says, then amends, “The information is incorrect. I am just uncertain as to how.” He opens the door and leaves Jim to his thoughts, content to feel that Jim is currently safe—if not stressed—through their bond.

He finds McCoy outside with his hands in his pockets, staring up at the black sky. “Times like these I wished I still had my granddaddy’s pipe.” Bones drags a hand down his face. “This is a real mess, you know.”

“I am inclined to agree, doctor.”

McCoy huffs a laugh. “Who’d’a thunk the two of us out here like this, trying to save him.” He turns to look at Spock. “You really couldn’t find anything at all.”

Spock gives one shake of his head. “Negative. There is no evidence to show otherwise. I will merely offer my testimony.”

Bones looks furious for a moment, then says, “At least try to be human about it.”

“As I am not human,” Spock reminds him evenly, “I cannot. And I cannot guarantee the Captain’s acquittal with the information I must present,” Spock says. “And yet, I can offer my testimony that the information on the computer’s ship is incorrect.”

“That’ll hold some weight. Better than us humans,” Bones says. He then looks at Spock with something shrewd in his gaze. “Some First Officers might use an opportunity like this to make themselves look good—set themselves up for a promotion.”

Spock gives him a careful look, then simply states, “You of all people, doctor, must know I am incapable of doing anything that would bring undue harm to him.”

McCoy sighs and his gaze drops to the ground. “Damn it all to hell, yes I do. That Vulcan stubbornness might be the only thing that saves him this time.”

Spock clasps his hands behind his back. “Do not have such little faith in the Captain’s ability to save himself, doctor.” And then he leaves. He has much work, and precious few hours to accomplish it in.

~*~ 

There is something to be said about feeling human nerves, and Spock finds himself torn between wanting this interaction to be finished with as quickly as possible, and to linger so he might examine this feeling with a more scientific mind. But he’s not give the opportunity. The prosecution is standing before him—an aesthetically pleasing woman whose gaze is drawn to Jim every four point nine seconds in spite of her interrogation. When she looks over at the accused, Spock feels something in the bond—a flare of recognition and nostalgia.

Spock wonders if this woman is one of the many mentioned in Jim’s old correspondence when he attempted to find romance. It is not Carol, which brings him a strange sense of relief.

Her questions are perfunctory. The accusations of speculation are laughable—he is compromised when it comes to Jim in some ways, but he is still a Vulcan.

“In your opinion,” she says, as though that will be his undoing.

Spock ensures he makes eye contact with the Commodore and everyone else on the panel before he nods. “In my opinion.” If they truly know anything about Vulcans, they will understand exactly what that statement means.

~*~

There is no real surprise that Jim saves himself. At least, not for Spock, though he does take note of the surprised look on the Commodore’s face when it is revealed that it was Finney’s desperation for revenge, desperation to destroy Jim, that led to such drastic actions.

Spock also takes note of the exact moment when the Commodore realizes Jim’s utter and sincere love and compassion for a man who would have seen him all-but destroyed. He feels a strange sense of pride in his t’hy’la—an irrational, illogical urge to puff his chest and proclaim to the world that this man—this anomaly of a man—is his and his alone.

He does none of those things. He merely nods at Jim as his Captain takes his rightful place on the ship, and takes them out of orbit.

~*~ 

Spock finds himself on the observation deck hours into gamma shift. If he were human, he would perhaps be suffering a bout of insomnia, but as he is Vulcan, he is simply utilizing his ability to do without rest as his mind goes back through the events of the last few days.

It is trying, emotionally and physically, even for a Vulcan such as him. More so perhaps because he is only half, and is finding himself in closer touch with his human side than ever before. He thought he might resent Jim for it—for wanting to feel it, for wanting to give more to Jim than Sarek gives to Amanda. And he does not judge his parents—Spock is aware his mother is brave, and clever, and strong, and he knows she loves him. He knows she resents him for the chasm Sarek allowed to exist in their family, just as he knows that Amanda resents him for whatever happened with Michael. 

But there is love there, and it is that love which gives Spock hope for his future with Jim. They have more than four years left aboard this vessel, which feels like perhaps a lifetime—at least enough hours for Spock to gain the strength to tell Jim everything he needs to. Spock never thought himself a coward, and he does not think it now, but it worries him when he feels little bursts of Jim’s past through their bond whenever they contact a past lover.

Spock startles from his thoughts when the doors to the deck open, and Jim enters. Spock automatically shifts in his seat as Jim joins him, close enough they touch from shoulder to thigh. Jim reaches out, traces his finger along the viewscreen, then looks at Spock and laughs.

It’s a bright sound, not happy, but it still brings a surging feeling of joy throughout Spock’s katra. “That was a close one, eh?”

Spock huffs a little, an open display for Jim alone. “I would advise you to refrain from such ‘close ones’ in the future, Jim, but I do not believe you would heed my words.”

“Indeed not,” Jim says with an open grin. “And don’t pretend like you wouldn’t act irrationally if the circumstances called for it, mister. I know you better than that.”

Jim has indeed seen Spock at his most irrational, at his weakest, and his strongest. Jim reaches between them and takes Spock hand’s in his, laying them palm to palm as their fingers intertwine and Spock feels a profound sense of _home_.

“Areel. She was your lover once,” Spock says.

Jim grimaces. “Lover. I…that word.” He shakes his head and his eyes drift out toward the stars. “I guess in a technical sense, that’s right.”

“You loved her,” Spock points out, because Jim can deny it, but Spock can feel the truth whether Jim’s aware of it or not.

Jim shrugs. “I suppose. I think I’ve loved a lot of people in my lifetime, but…that can’t be a bad thing, Mr. Spock. Can it?”

“No, Jim,” Spock assures him gently. He thinks of the comms for all those years—the love behind them, for Spock, for others. He thinks of how just a matter of hours before this moment Spock was holding Jim as his body was wracked with sobs—inconsolable grief—for a man he loved and thought dead. A man who would, mere hours later, reveal himself to have orchestrated the entire thing to bring Jim down.

And Spock can feel it even now—Jim still holds love for that man.

It is…fascinating.

“Am I a fool for wanting to believe he couldn’t do something like that?”

“You are merely the man you present yourself to be, Jim,” Spock tells him, strokes his thumb along the side of Jim’s hands where they are linked. “There is nothing foolish about acting in your own nature. I find it one of the things I cherish most about you, ashayam.”

Jim’s eyes flicker down to their joined hands, and a small smile graces his lips. “You meant what you said, didn’t you? In the hearing.”

“I cannot lie,” Spock says, and Jim snorts, so Spock amends, “I would not lie.”

Jim shuffles a little closer, and adjusts their hands so they rest on his thigh, and he lets his cheek fall against Spock’s shoulder. “Can we stay here a while?”

Spock squeezes Jim’s fingers and their gazes return to the stars. “As long as you wish, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next is the Menagerie parts 1&2\. Also I'm still taking prompts at my tumblr [ashayamspirk](https://ashayamspirk.tumblr.com) if anyone has any short drabble ideas for me. I have a couple to write in my queue, but I'm happy to hear more.


	8. The Menagerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was also surprisingly difficult. I thought the words would come pouring out, but it was like running on beach sand. 
> 
> I did very little re-telling of these two episodes, and instead I focused on Spock's previous relationship with Pike, and with Spock making up with Jim because we deserved more than that, "You're getting emotional" scene at the end. There was some massive betrayal that happened here.
> 
> Anyway it was shorter than I expected but not much I can do about that. I don't know that this is my best work, but it is what it is. <3

Spock sits up in bed, grasping at his temples, his breathing too fast, erratic, overwhelmed with a feeling he hasn’t experienced in so many years, it takes him too long to understand. The voice in his head, the prodding, the whispers. It had been a psychic attack the first time—unintentional in a way, but a species like the Talosians, it’s only natural to seek out other, potential psi-positive species on the ship.

Now, it doesn’t feel like that. It feels exhausted, reaching over millions upon millions of miles with a desperation he’s not expecting. His eyes squeeze shut, and the voice sounds in his head, tired but the same as it had been all those years ago.

_“He calls to us.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Spock says aloud, though he knows the thought carries. His brain feels fried, but he desperately clings to the communication. “Who calls to you?”_

_“The human—the Captain. The perfect specimen. He is suffering—his suffering has called to us. You must bring him.”_

_“I cannot,” Spock says. He rises on shaking legs, gripping the edge of his desk as he tries to keep himself steady. “I cannot. The risk is too great.”_

_“Then he will die. He will wither, and he will die. But know this—he is in pain, and he calls to us.”_

Just like that, the connection is gone, and Spock cannot help himself but fall to his knees. The hard ground bites into his sensitive flesh, and he grasps for the chair to keep himself from collapsing. His hands shake, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

The moment passes, taking longer than usual, but he rises to his feet the moment he’s able, and scrabbles for his computer. “Current status of Admiral Christopher Pike.”

“Working,” the computer says, and after several long, calculating moments, “Admiral Pike, currently active duty, stationed on Starbase Eleven under medical advisement due to exposure to delta rays.”

Spock feels something cold and violent grip at his heart, and it takes him a moment to recover. He loved Christopher—not in the way he has and will always love Jim, but all the same, he will always cherish him. “Prognosis?” Spock asks.

“Current records classified,” the computer tells him.

He doesn’t really need to access the files to know. The Talosians would not be contacting him—Chris would not be reaching out to those creatures—if it did not mean he had no hope of anything else. His throat constricts with unfamiliar emotional pain, and he breathes through it.

He realizes in this moment, he is Chris’ only hope. No one knows where Talos IV is. No one would risk their lives—risk the punishment of death—no matter how good a man he is, how undeserving Chris is of this fate. Spock pinches his eyes shut with thumb and forefinger, and calculates exactly what he needs to do.

It will be difficult, and he’s overcome by a moment of doubt. Is it worth it? The risk? The Death Penalty—because there is no way to pull this off without being court martialed. He cannot ask Jim—cannot risk anyone else’s punishment. Not when it means loss of life.

He knows what the betrayal will mean—the mutiny. He understands the irony of it, too. He briefly thinks of his father—of the moment they learned about Michael and what she had done, and the path it led down. He recalled the visceral disappointment in Sarek, and to know he will be the cause of another, equal moment…

But he cannot let that decide for him. His father long-since turned his back on Spock, and this is more than upholding family or Vulcan honor. This is not his first love, but it is _a_ love, and one that will forever remain important. 

Christopher deserves more than whatever his fate is.

Spock stands up straight, and clasps his hands behind his back, and considers all of his options. He supposes in a way, he’s grateful most of the crew underestimate him. Not only his intelligence and his skill, but his ability for deception. Only Jim knows that part of him—knows him well enough to doubt his honesty. But he has to take that risk.

He has no other choice.

~*~ 

Spock can sense Jim’s suspicion before they arrive on Starbase 11. It’s glaringly obvious that something doesn’t sit right with the message Spock reported, and Spock can see it in his eyes. He goes anyway, because Spock is counting on the fact that Jim will give him anything—everything—he asks for without question. It’s trust that he’s setting ablaze and watching burn to ash, but he has no other choice.

Were this situation reversed, Spock would not abide by it. Simply, he knows, because he cannot live without Jim. But Jim is not Vulcan—he is human, and he will survive and find another, and it would not carve him out and leave him empty the way it would for Spock.

Maybe, he thinks, there is a way out of this. Maybe it will not end in tears and a quiet, humane death ordered by the Federation, but he cannot count on that. Right now he simply knows he _must_ save Chris, and he must deceive and betray in order to do it.

First, however, he must see him.

He does not know if Chris is aware of their presence when they first enter the room. He turns, body encapsulated by a medical contraption that looks as barbaric as it must feel. Spock can sense the pain rolling off him in waves—can sense his wish for death. It’s possibly why Chris rejects them—not because he does not wish visitors, but because he knows Spock feels it.

All the same, he allows Spock to stay.

His fingers itch to meld, as they had done years ago, but he does not think Chris will appreciate it. “You should have sent for me,” Spock tells him.

Two beeps.

Spock bows his head. “I would have come, I would have done something. And you know I still can. I have never disobeyed your orders before, Captain,” he says as gently as he can manage. “But I must do so now.”

Two beeps.

Spock cannot help a smile in spite of himself. “You always were contrary with me. When I came to you that first time, you feared for me. You were in love with another and you feared that I would be broken by you. But I was not.”

Two beeps.

Spock shakes his head and places both hands on either side of the metal, and hates that he cannot touch Chris’ skin. Though Chris’ eyes are obscured by the damage done to his skin, Spock still reads them as well as he ever could.

“I am willing to risk anything to free you from pain,” he tells him.

Two beeps.

“You cannot convince me otherwise.” Spock rises, and he begins the second phase of his plan.

~*~ 

His two major hurdles are that Dr. McCoy is no fool, and that Jim will not let him go. Spock is aware of that, and he merely needs to reach deep space—a place where the Talosians can reach the ship with their powers—before he is stopped.

He can feel the helplessness and frustration on Chris pouring off him in waves, and Spock is aware that it’s not just Jim he’s betraying. He has taken Chris against his will—has ignored his autonomy, has taken advantage of the fact that Chris cannot fight him—and he will live with that guilt for the rest of his likely short life.

He kneels in front of him, and wants to meld, but will at least offer Chris that choice. “You hesitated in leaving her,” he reminds him. “Your heart was broken, and you felt for her, and had it not been for your dedication to the Fleet, and to me, you might have stayed.”

One beep.

Spock’s eyes close, and he feels a moment of pain wash over him, but he supposes it all worked out the way it was meant to. “I love you,” he says. Strange that he can dare say it aloud to someone who was never meant to be his, and yet he still cannot voice that to his t’hy’la. He must, he knows. Before he is sentenced, he must tell Jim. “I cannot bear to see you suffer in such a way. You were meant for far better things than to die in agony, even if they are an illusion.”

Two beeps.

“I cannot accept that answer.”

Maybe that is Spock’s greatest weakness—his inability to truly let go. Maybe that’s why the mention of his father still stings. Maybe it is a mark of his humanness that he was never able to truly control it. He still finds it a weakness in himself, but he wonders what Jim would say.

There is no reasoning with Chris. The man is far too like Jim to do so. When his mind is made up, little can convince him otherwise. And perhaps it is nothing more than selfish cruelty that he takes Chris’ choice away from him, but maybe not. 

He won’t know until they reach Talos IV.

Dr. McCoy agrees to care for Chris without question—though Spock cannot be sure that the moment he is out of earshot the doctor won’t attempt to gain answers from the Admiral. But they are getting closer to the Talosian pull—he can feel it, just on the edge of space, grabbing at the ship with slippery fingers. 

He’s informed not long after that they’re being tailed by a shuttle. He knows it’s Jim, doesn’t need to feel him to know it, even though he can. He feels Jim’s fear and frustration through the bond—feels the betrayal and hurt. There’s no explanation that Spock can give which will earn Jim’s forgiveness—and truly he does not believe he deserves it.

All he can do is ignore the shuttle, let it continue to follow them, until he knows the Talosians have the ship. Jim should have enough air, and the one thing Spock will _not_ do is let harm come to his t’hy’la. It is the only thing worth risking Chris’ safety and comfort.

He feels the moment the Talosians have the ship. It’s like a weight off him, and he feels their mind probing his, and then searching for Chris, and it’s then Spock orders the shuttle taken in and Jim beamed aboard. He tries not to look at McCoy’s face when he announces the passenger to be Jim, and he doesn’t need to be telepathic to know what’s going through the good doctor’s mind when he turns himself in.

“Spock,” is all McCoy can say, a soft breath behind it.

Spock stands firm, however, and eventually McCoy gives the order for Spock to be held in his quarters under guard as they get Jim back in charge of the vessel.

He goes willingly. There will be a court martial—he will stand trial, plead guilty, and he will be executed for his crimes. Jim will hate him, and mourn for him, but Spock believes his life is worth giving up if it means that Chris won’t have to live his life trapped in constant, agonizing pain. If there were relief, a cure, a way to minimize his suffering, Spock would not have sacrificed himself. But he can feel his nerve endings like they are being burned alive every time he’s near his former Captain, and no being should ever, ever be forced to endure such a thing.

The Talosians are bringing them in now anyway. Attempting to regain control of the ship is futile, and it’s with that knowledge that he can rest. Not easy, but he can still rest.

~*~ 

There’s something about Commodore Mendez that he can’t put his finger on, but he doesn’t fight the hearing—he welcomes it, in fact. Especially when suddenly images flare to life that Spock hasn’t seen for many years. Images which bring back strange, painful memories.

Injury, suffering, heart-ache.

He’s there, on the planet’s surface, and he hears Jim make a small noise, and he looks over to see—only for a moment—a lingering smile on his t’hy’la’s face as he watches Spock, younger and fascinated by this planet. Then Jim looks at him, and his face hardens, and Spock feels the push of anger and hurt through their bond.

Spock bows his head, and lets the hearing continue as it is. Though the members in the room are suspicious, Chris has given it the go-ahead. Spock knows Chris will find him guilty at the end, but he did not do this in order to obtain a pardon. He did this to save someone he loves.

He would do no less for anyone else he cherished.

~*~ 

Spock has no right to the pain he feels when he’s pronounced guilty of the crime he willingly committed. Mutiny, a family legacy he supposes, which was never his intention, but in a way he thinks he understands why Michael felt like she had no other choice. Michael’s fate—her path—took her down a road in which Spock doesn’t think he’ll be reunited with her again, even if he does survive this.

He allows himself a moment to wonder if the tables were turned, would he pronounce Jim the same? Would he sentence him to death simply because protocol demanded it? He knows the answer. He knows that he could not harm Jim for any reason, no matter how just or valid. It is simply how he is wired—and it is simply how Jim is not.

Spock betrayed Chris in far too many ways not to warrant his disgust and hatred, even if it means he can live the rest of his life free of agony, in the arms of a woman he fell for so many years ago. It is not a forgivable sin.

He knows he will go to his death with the feeling of both love, and anger, flowing between his bond with Jim. He knows he is not strong enough to break the bond, so Jim will then feel his death, and his only real contemplation is whether or not to make Jim aware of it. It will not change things—he knows that much.

Spock is resigned to his fate when fate decides for him. When fate is the Talosians, who are there to take Chris home, who have only tested them. Spock has no right to his anger there, because he was the one who put them in this position.

He allows himself relief when Commodore Mendez sends the message that he has, too, received the transmission from the Talosians, and that Spock is acquitted. But it only means he has a lifetime to be face with Jim’s hurt, and the canyon of distance his actions have placed between them.

Even in his deepest mediation after he hears Jim’s words, “Why didn’t you tell me?” And the unspoken parts, “I would have helped you, I would have done anything.”

And that was exactly it. Jim would have thrown himself in the line of blaster fire for Spock without regard to his own life because he does not understand that Spock cannot live with him. It is not a matter of want, or need. It is a matter of capability. Spock will survive, a shell of himself, when Jim leaves the world too soon. Spock is resigned to that fate—fate saw to it when it created a t’hy’la bond between Vulcan and Human. 

But not this soon, never this soon. Spock has yet to enter his time, has yet to truly create the bond between himself and Jim, and perhaps now he has destroyed any chance of that happening.

He cannot sleep, and cannot rest. Jim will not speak to him for days.

~*~ 

Spock is hours into the most tedious work on his PADD when he feels a tug on the bond he has not felt in weeks. Three weeks, four days, six hours, fourteen minutes, and fifty four seconds, to be exact. His head snaps up and he’s on his feet, walking to the door before the buzzer sounds. He feels Jim’s hesitation, so he does not answer right away—allows his Captain, his t’hy’la to take a moment to change his mind.

When he does not, when Spock feels a rush of determination, Spock palms the door open and clasps his hands behind his back as Jim steps in. Neither of them say a word until the door slides closed with a quiet whoosh and then Jim clears his throat loud and pointed.

“Are you busy?”

“I am merely completing some data logs,” Spock says, nodding toward his desk. “Your presence is not disturbing me.”

“Right,” Jim says, then reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, and clears his throat again. “Right.” He lets out a laugh, the sound high and tense. “I don’t actually know what I’m doing here.”

Spock winces, and pushes down the hurt it causes because he still sees no way to repair the rift between them. “Is there anything I can help you with, Captain.”

“I’m not on duty,” Jim points out, a little testy as he takes a step toward Spock’s table. “Can I sit.”

“Of course,” Spock says. “I was not certain you would welcome familiarity with me. Jim,” he adds for measure.

Jim tilts his head to the side, and Spock feels a rush of gratitude that Jim is actually considering his words instead of reacting on impulse alone. “I wasn’t sure I’d be okay with it. I was angry. I’m still angry.” Jim shakes his head. “No. I mean yes, I am. But I think I’m mostly hurt.”

Spock bows his head, conceding to Jim’s feelings even as he makes his way to the replicator and orders tea the way Jim likes it. Spock takes the seat across from him, but instead of their usual closeness, he stays back to prevent any accidental touching.

“If there is a way to repair…” he begins, but at Jim’s tiny scoff, any remaining words die.

“I don’t know if there is. Spock I…” He licks his lips, curls his hands around the tea mug, and waits until Spock finally is brave enough to meet his gaze full on. “You were willing to die for him.”

Spock swallows thickly. “Affirmative.”

“Will you tell me why?” There’s an angry bite to his words, but Spock mostly feels a desperation to know, to understand. “Are you in love with him.”

Spock cannot stop himself from reacting—from his eyes going wide, from his hands making a startled, abortive movement like he means to reach out and reassure Jim with touch that no one holds his heart except James Kirk. He just barely manages to stop himself. “I cherish him like I do few others. He was my Captain, and my friend, and once-lover. And he was suffering.”

Jim nods, and looks down at the cooling tea, but makes no move to drink it. “How?” His voice cracks a little on the word, and he clears his throat, sounds close to tears which makes Spock ache. “How did you know? I need you to tell me how…”

So Spock does. He tells Jim each and every detail about his relationship with Chris. He tells him their parting, and tells him about waking with the Talosians in his head. He tells him the truth about almost— _almost_ —everything.

Jim listens with rapt attention, and Spock feels between them an understanding—mostly because Jim knows that deep down, he would have done the same. He would have done the same for Spock, or Bones, or almost any member of the crew. So he cannot deny Spock that same courtesy, even if it hurts.

But it does hurt, and Spock can tell Jim isn’t ready to forgive him just yet.

“I can’t lose you,” Jim eventually says.

Spock looks up in surprise, because that was the last thing he was expecting the captain to say. “Jim,” he starts, but Jim silences him with a raised hand.

“I don’t…I don’t know how to fix this, to get over this feeling, because I would have protected you, I would have helped you. I would have done anything you asked.”

“I am aware of that, Jim,” Spock says, because it’s obvious then that Jim doesn’t understand Spock didn’t tell him because of those reasons, not out of fear that Jim would deny him aid. Jim looks at him with cautious disbelief, and Spock allows himself a very human sigh. “It is precisely that loyalty which caused my deception. I could not…I could not allow you to risk yourself. As I said before in the hearing, I could not allow your career—your life—to be put in danger for this. Knowing exactly how far you would have gone with me was the sole reason I said nothing. I could not bear you suffering a consequence.”

Jim licks his lips, and sits back, finally releasing the untouched tea. “We could have found a way to do it that wouldn’t have…” He laughs, this time a little less bitter, and shakes his head. “I suppose there’s no point in being angry about the death penalty when you were acquitted.”

“They would not have accepted my answer, and Christopher would never have agreed to accompany us, even if we had found a way to reach Talos IV without alerting Starfleet,” Spock tells him.

“He looked happy to go. Eventually,” Jim says, though his tone is hesitant again.

“He feels relief from the pain, but I removed his choice and I must live with that,” Spock admits. He finally lifts his own mug and tries not to grimace at the tepid liquid. “Just as I must live with an understanding that I have destroyed your trust in me.”

“Spock,” Jim says, nearly a whisper, like he wants to argue. But Spock can feel the moment he realizes it’s true. “I…”

“Captain,” Spock says quietly.

Jim makes a noise of pain, and drags a hand down his face. “I don’t want this. I can’t live with this. I…you’ve been consistently one of the most important people in my life, since I was a baby. Since you tried to _claim_ me for yours and take me home with you. And Spock…” He meets Spock’s gaze with an intensity Spock is unused to, and it captures him in a vice-grip. “You have me. I don’t know when I’ll feel okay again, but something in here,” he taps his temple, “tells me that no matter what we do to each other, what we are to each other, we’ll always find our way back. So I need you to promise me never again. Never again, will you risk your life, risk me losing you. Because I can’t live with that.”

Spock wants to argue that as a human man, he _can_. But perhaps that is merely is intense misunderstanding of Jim’s humanity. And Jim is allowed to demand this, and after everything, Spock trusts himself to promise. “I will do everything in my power.”

“Good.” Jim stands, and his hands flex at his sides like maybe he wants to do something. But he does not. He walks toward the door, and Spock remains in his seat, and startles a little when Jim clears his throat a final time. “Chess tomorrow night? After shift?”

Spock allows a faint smile to touch his lips. “It would be my honor, Jim.”

Jim gives the door jamb a quick pat twice. “I’ll see you then.”

Then he’s gone, and the door shuts, and Spock feels the weight of an entire universe lift off his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some changes--namely deleting 4 more chapters from my line-up mostly because those 4 are intensely Kirk-centric and I don't know that i'd have enough Spock material to fill in anything worth telling.
> 
> So with that adjustment, the next chapter is City on the Edge of Forever, which is something I've been looking forward to for a long long time, and I'm going to be taking my time with it. Sorry for all the changes, but I hope that's okay with y'all. 
> 
> Lastly- someone came to my tumblr to tell me about a missing word on one of my fics, and I more than appreciate y'all looking out. My GF is usually my beta, but she's been busy with work, and when I self-edit I use my braille display, but it's set for grade 2 so with how fast I read and with contractions (because JAWS just takes too long and it's too frustrating to listen to for long periods of time), I'm bound to miss things. I'll have her look stuff over eventually but just bare with me that there are probably tons of typos and I'll get them fixed eventually <3


	9. City on the Edge of Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being my shortest chapter yet, which I was not expecting, but I realized I didn't want to re-tell any of the episode, just the in betweens and Spock dealing with the fall-out of the Menagerie. It's not beta'd this time and it's not posted on tumblr because my laptop is acting up so I'm calling it a wash. Today has been a day anyway (as some of you might have noticed how I started my day with tumblr anon hate lol) So it's just a bunch of angst, but I promise promise promise we're getting closer. Next chapter coming up is Operation!Annihilate. (aka this blind bitch's fave lol)

It hits Spock somewhere in the middle of his paperwork, long after his shift ended. He’s in his quarters, a game of chess lost and left out, the scent of Jim slowly fading. Spock’s at his desk with a PADD in his hand, and the moment the realization takes him, it almost clatters to the ground.

This. This is his new normal.

His relationship with Jim is back to friendly chess games, and the occasional meal together, and a willingness to die for each other when necessary. Like not long before when Khan had taken over the Enterprise and had nearly ended Jim’s life. Spock wouldn’t have let that happen, of course, but when it was over, there was no quiet moment between them. No feeling of peace and contentment and relief. There was simply a nod, and a good night.

Spock could feel Jim on the other side of their shared bathroom, in a fitful sleep, but there was no welcome invitation to join him, to bask in the knowledge that they had, yet again, survived another near-death experience.

He supposes, in a way, that bringing peace and comfort back to Christopher was worth it, but he’s starting to truly believe this is it. That those actions irrevocably destroyed what they might have been. That some day Spock might be standing alongside Jim as an unnamed officiant signed bonding forms between Jim and a faceless stranger.

He would suffer Jim in love with another if it meant Jim would live and eventually die happy—but a small piece of him was burning to ash.

And it was his own fault. Truly.

It takes him several moments to compose himself, and when he does, he is aware he has abandoned the PADD and is now standing beside his desk, clutching the Starfleet badge—the one piece of evidence that Spock had carried with him always as proof that Jim was his. 

It felt wrong in his hands now. It felt a false hope.

_Oooeeoooo_. 

Spock turns at the sound of the alert. “Mr. Spock here.”

“Mr. Spock to the bridge, please.” Jim’s voice books no argument, and it sounds tense but not frightened. 

Spock clutches the badge, then shoves it into his pocket and deliberately does not check the bond because he knows now he has no rights to it. He gave those away the moment he chose—willingly—to deceive the man he loves.

With a sigh, he schools his emotions into their small, claustrophobic boxes in the shadows of his mind, and heads to his Captain’s side.

~*~ 

There’s something viscerally terrifying about this place—about a place that exists outside of their own reality, with only the potential to return to their reality. That fear is followed closely by the notion that he is now trapped in time with Jim. Where that once was a comfort, it chills him to his core because the distance between them is irrevocable. Jim is from the future, yes, but he is also human. Spock is far from it, trapped in the past of a world who will not see Vulcans for hundreds of years.

Only so many will buy Jim’s halting, stuttering explanation of Spock’s appearance. Only so many will accept his alien nature for so long. And then? He will have no real means to protect himself should they wish to take him, and he will outlive Jim by far too long to rely on his caption for companionship.

He feels severed from his world, from his time, from the bonds of his clan.

It leaves him shaken and sleepless in that first night in the ‘flop’ with a single bed where Jim lay currently asleep, peaceful in a way Spock does not believe he ever will be.

He takes a seat under the window, and feels the cold winter air on his skin as he folds his legs and attempts to meditate. Peace will not come easy—if at all.

~*~ 

His jealousy is far from surprising when he watches Jim’s eyes fixated on Edith. In a way, Spock cannot blame Jim for being drawn to her. She is ahead of her time in a way that Spock suspects she has been visited by something outside of this realm. Perhaps another time-traveler. Perhaps a warp-capable species breaking agreements by current warp-capable species that Earth would be off limits until…well. Until 2063, but even they will not know that yet.

All the same, she is an anomaly which Spock was unprepared for when they accepted their mission to find McCoy somewhere in this timestream. He had accepted the mission with Jim, knowing it would be tense, knowing Jim had not come close to forgiving him for his transgression—his betrayal—an in spite of the acquittal, the mutiny. Jim’s toleration of him is fragile at best, and he can hear the frustration as an undercurrent in his worried tone because in spite of his anger, he still cares. He still understands what being cut off from everything will do to a Vulcan.

But it doesn’t mean anything more than it is. The care of a Captain for his First Officer.

“Spock?”

The sleep-heavy voice draws Spock from his attempt at meditation, and he rises, curling his hands into fists, and slowly releasing them. “Captain,” Spock says. “If I woke you, I apologize.”

Jim runs a hand down his face with a sigh. “It wasn’t you. I just…you haven’t come to bed.”

Spock frowns. “Captain…”

“I mean at all. I’m…you’re not relegated to the _floor_ , Spock.” Jim sounds flustered, and concerned. “Hell, it’s nothing we haven’t done before, right? It would be like old times. Like when we were kids…”

The memories are a sharp pain, opening a wound, leaving him bleeding. In truth, Spock wants nothing more than to crawl under the threadbare blanket and let his body curve around Jim’s. He wants to let their skin connect, and feel the bond light up under touch. But he cannot have it. He cannot bring himself to get closer when he cannot _have_. His time will be upon him soon. T’Pring awaits him, and it seems perhaps his father was right all along when he warned both Spock and Amanda that bonding to a human would have no good consequence.

When he arrives on Vulcan—should he ever get there—he will have the bond between himself and Jim removed. It will only be then that he will be able to truly move on and let something akin to friendship settle between himself and Jim.

“I am not fatigued,” Spock eventually says.

Jim snorts, but flops back down against the pillow and covers his face with one hand. “I don’t have to be a telepath to know that’s a damn lie, Spock. This place is draining you.”

“It is earth, and as I am half human…”

“I know what’s happening,” Jim interrupts. He rises, flops onto his belly so his face is near the edge of the bed. He can look at Spock properly that way, and in the dim light, his eyes glint. “It’s killing you.”

“I have survived worse,” Spock tells him, and that’s true. He might still be bonded to his family, but he has been cut off from feeling it for eighteen years now. When it first happened, it felt as though someone had taken a lirpa and carved a hole inside him. Slowly, over far too much time, it healed. The bond is scarred, and it twinges every so often, but he has learned to live with it. As he shall now.

In this time, in history, Vulcan exists, even if he cannot reach it.

Jim sighs when he realizes he’s not getting anywhere with Spock. “You should stay in tomorrow. Keep working on that,” he waves his hand in an absent circle around what little Spock has been able to cobble together with their hard-earned money. His fingers still ache from manual labor he is not used to. His body feels the way it did as a child, during his khas-wan. Only there is no I-Chaya, there is no warmth upon his return at the end of the long day.

Spock does not argue with Jim’s order. In truth, he has started to lose hope they will ever get back, and he’s frustrated because it’s Jim’s fault he feels something like hope at all. “As you wish, Captain.”

Jim gives him a careful look, then says very softly, “If you would let me help…”

“One of us must maintain our presence here,” Spock says shortly. “And Miss Keeler will miss you.”

Spock has worked hard and diligent to keep himself from feeling what Jim feels, but the rush and surge of affection hits him, and nearly knocks him over because it isn’t for him. It’s for her. As it should be.

The offer to allow Jim to stay, or perhaps take her along with, is on the tip of his tongue because it might make it easier for Spock to follow through when he ends things. But he can’t bring himself to. He’s far too selfish, and wants to cherish the connection with his t’hy’la as long as he’s able.

~*~ 

Edith Keeler must die.

Spock knows it, in spite of acknowledging the opposite—that it’s possible she must live. It’s a feeling more than any sort of logical deduction, and he wants to dismiss it, but he cannot. Something cruel and dark inside of him—possessive and wanting—flares to life at the thought that fate will take care of the Edith Keeler Problem. That the Universe would see fit to strike down anyone who might stand in the way of himself and Jim.

He’s too conflicted. Jim has confessed his love for the woman, but he has also sent a surge of love through the bond toward Spock. About Spock. He heard it in Jim’s defense of him when she accused Spock of stealing, and then when Spock stayed behind, unable to stand being in Jim’s presence any longer without _having_ , he felt it again.

McCoy has not yet arrived, so Spock sets to going over the information again and again. Jim eventually sleeps, and Spock eventually shuts down the rudimentary equipment. He finds himself sitting on a blanket under the window with the dull, worn Starfleet badge twisting in his fingers. There’s a groove in it from where he’s rubbed his thumb along the edge enough times that it just fits. It’s unconscious, and it draws him to a time when he thought the future was clear and succinct. He would be with Jim, and Jim would be with him. They would bond, and they would love each other deep and rare as only t’hy’la can. 

His childhood mind could not have conceived of it ending at all—and certainly not like this. At four he understood the concept of loss and grief, but when he’d taken the small infant into his arms and felt how _right_ it was, separation didn’t factor in. It couldn’t.

Spock lets out a sigh, and hates himself for the way it trembles. He is far past an age where he should let emotions control him, and he desperately wishes he had known at least one Vulcan who had found their t’hy’la. So long he existed and assumed based on old legend and theory. Those cannot hold up against a human variable, which Vulcans would have been wholly unprepared for. And Spock, himself, would be considered a variable as well, as he was not fully Vulcan at all.

He lets his head fall back, and does not intend to hit the wall so hard, but misjudges the distance due to his distraction, and Jim wakes. Spock knew, just from careful inspection, Jim was close to consciousness as it was. The struggle over Edith Keeler has his mind whirling, and Spock is uncertain how to handle it.

He says nothing as Jim sits up and scrubs his face. He remains still as Jim looks over and then rises, crossed the room, and sits across from him. Their knees knock together, but they are clothed, so there is little transfer. Then Jim reaches over and closes one hand over Spock’s wrist.

It’s a moment before Spock can control the flow passing from Jim to himself, and in that moment he feels fear, and grief, and resignation. Then Jim pries Spock’s hand open, and though he does not take the badge, he strokes one finger along the edge.

“Why did you bring this with you?” Jim asks.

Spock closes his eyes and opens them in a slow blink. He considers lying by admission, or redirection. He’s gotten better at it, but he knows Jim will read the truth from him. “I am mourning.”

Jim’s brows dip, an answer he wasn’t expecting. “We’ll get home Spock. We’ll figure this out, we’ll get Bones, and we’ll get…”

“I am mourning the loss of my t’hy’la,” Spock tells him.

Jim startles, and his fingers spasm a firmer grip on Spock’s wrist. “Spock,” he says, an almost whisper, “I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Spock shakes his head, and fights back the urge to cling to Jim. “You are. Physically, but since my deception—since my court martial…”

Jim hangs his head, breathes out. “I’m trying,” he says eventually. “God help me, but I’m trying to forgive you. I understand,” and he doesn’t need to put emphasis on those words for Spock to know how desperately Jim’s been trying to go back to the way they were. Spock would be a fool to assume this rift affected only himself, and he realizes how self-absorbed he’d been for not considering Jim is suffering too. “We’ll get there.”

“I am…not as optimistic as you are, Captain,” Spock admits, and the use of his title is deliberate. Jim seems to know it in the way he doesn’t correct Spock. “You have taught me, above all things, that it is not entirely illogical to hope. But it is starting to feel that way.”

Jim’s thumb strokes the inside of Spock’s wrist gently, and Spock feels a pulse of affection even as he tries desperately not to. “Don’t give up on me.”

“I could not. Even if I wished to. You are t’hy’la, Jim.” Spock leans his head back, slower this time, and his eyes close and stay that way. He lets himself bask in the feeling of Jim’s warm hand on him—a connection he has not had in long enough he’s afraid to calculate it down to the second. “I am sorry for what we might be forced to allow.”

Jim swallows, thick enough Spock hears it click in his throat. “We don’t belong here, and if that means she dies…”

“You love her,” Spock says, and it feels angry and raw to say the words aloud, but Jim deserves to hear Spock admit them. “I would not wish you to mourn—to suffer her loss. It is not in my nature to be the cause of your pain.”

Jim shuffles over, and his back pushes against the wall, and their bodies touch from shoulder to knee. Spock misses the hand on his arm, but this is warmer than he has been in some time. “I made you lonely here.”

Spock shakes his head. “The fault was my own—my own deeds which caused the distance between us. I accept…”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” Jim says, now sounding almost angry. Spock opens his eyes and sees a fiery glint in his Captain’s eyes. “Hell’s bells Spock, this wasn’t some cruelty on my part to make you suffer because I was angry. I just…”

“You were frightened, and we had not yet come to terms with the change in our relationship,” Spock fills in for him. “And you fell in love.”

Jim shrugs, looking almost petulant. “It wouldn’t the first time. If I had a credit for every time Bones gave me grief over falling in love…” He lets out a tense laugh, and Spock thinks a moment on how McCoy once loved Jim in the same way. He thinks of the people Jim once spoke about over letters, and how he mourned their losses as he let them go. It is not so easy for Spock to let go, but it is also not so easy for him to feel. “I don’t want her to die.”

“I cannot change what must be,” Spock says, “but I hope all the same, that it does not come to that.”

~*~ 

It does.

Of course it does.

Spock cannot pretend to be surprised at the way Jim managed to catch Bones in his arms and prevent the doctor from saving the woman. He expects the doctor’s reaction exactly as it comes—fury, sadness, disbelief.

It doesn’t take them long to find their way back to the portal, and eventually to the ship. The others had waited only moments, and Spock has the weight of those long weeks on his shoulder, and the promise that perhaps it is not as hopeless as he once thought.

And he still has the badge in his pocket, not ready to let it go just yet.

Something is settled between himself and Jim. There is sadness, but the shallowness of the grief does not equal the depth of Jim’s feelings for Edith and it confuses Spock, but he’s not sure he will be allowed to ask. So instead he continues as though nothing has changed.

When Jim comes to him a few nights later with chess and tea, there’s something shifted again, not quite back to where they were, but a glimmer of hope burns bright in Spock’s chest when Jim manages to beat him in only seventeen moves, and that light—that beautiful, gorgeous light—is back in his eyes.


End file.
